


Fates Chosen

by Sharinarra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beauxbatons, Fate is a fickle creature, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2018-11-29 14:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11442915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharinarra/pseuds/Sharinarra
Summary: Harry is found by an unexpected relative in Diagon Alley in the summer before his third year. They don't appreciate the dangers and general incompetence of the Hogwarts staff that he has encountered. New life and new school it is!This work is entirely unbeta'd and mostly stream of consciousness, so I have almost as little idea of whats going to happen as you do!ADVENTURE!





	1. New Beginnings

# Chapter One: New Beginnings

  
  


The stillness of the night was broken by the panting breaths of a young boy, running down the street. He dragged a large, old fashioned trunk behind him, and seemed intent not so much upon where he was going, but rather upon no longer being where he was running from.  
The stress and exertion of the evening catching up to him, he collapsed against a low wall by a sign reading Magnolia Crescent. In the dim light of the street lamps, it could be seen that the boy could have been no older than twelve, maybe thirteen at a stretch, with eyes an unusual shade of green, and unruly black hair that was clearly impossible to keep tidy. His clothes hung off his frame, obviously several sizes too large, and there was a distinctly underfed look to him.  
Regaining some of his breath, and beginning to take notice of his surroundings, the boy looked blankly at the stick in his hand, before rummaging in his trunk. Pausing, he looked up, and glanced around nervously, as though searching for a watcher sensed but unseen...

 

Shaking his head, Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, Saviour of the Wizarding World, and - at this moment - runaway, most likely expelled, underage wizard, bent over his trunk again, but almost immediately stood up once more, his hand clenched around his wand.  
He had sensed rather than heard it: someone or something was standing in the narrow gap between the garage and the fence behind him. Harry squinted at the black alleyway. If only it would move, then he'd know whether it was just a stray cat or -- something else.  
"Lumos," Harry muttered, and a light appeared at the end of his wand, almost dazzling him. He held it high over his head, and the pebble-dashed walls of number two suddenly sparkled; the garage door gleamed, and between them Harry saw, quite distinctly, the hulking outline of something very big, with wide, gleaming eyes. Harry stepped backward. His legs hit his trunk and he tripped.  
As he fell, he briefly glimpsed a strangely familiar face, half in shadow, peering over the low wall across the street. His wand flew out of his hand as he flung out an arm to break his fall, and he landed, hard, in the gutter

\-- There was a deafening BANG, and Harry threw up his hands to shield his eyes against a sudden blinding light --

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later, sitting in his room in the Leaky Cauldron, Harry found himself staring out at the lightening sky. His snowy owl, Hedwig leaned into his hand blissfully as he stroked her. His own thoughts, however, were far from relaxed.  
What on earth was going on? First the weird vanishing beast-thing at Magnolia Crescent, then that face - and he was sure he’d seen it before, somewhere - watching him, plus the extremely unsettling ride on the Knight Bus and the disturbing revelations about Sirius Black from the gossipy conductor, Stan. And to round it all out, Minister Fudge had been waiting for him when he reached the Leaky Cauldron, and had not only gone directly against the Ministries reaction to magic in the Dursley house the year prior, when he had been threatened with expulsion for the actions of a house elf, but seemed to be desperately trying to avoid going into any detail about anything important. He had waved off the underage magic, arranged for Aunt Marge to be obliviated, and wrangled the Dursleys into keeping him, then hustled Harry off to the rented room he now sat in, with an unprecedented three and a half weeks of complete freedom from the Dursleys and from most supervision, on the very threshold of Diagon Alley, ahead of him.  
Head spinning with the excitement and confusion of the night, Harry took off his glasses and collapsed onto the bed, sliding immediately into a deep sleep.

It took Harry several days to get used to his strange new freedom. Never before had he been able to get up whenever he wanted or eat whatever he fancied. He could even go wherever he pleased, as long as it was in Diagon Alley, and as this long cobbled street was packed with fascinating wizarding shops, Harry felt no desire to break his word to Fudge and stray back into the Muggle world. Harry ate breakfast each morning in the Leaky Cauldron, where he liked watching the other guests: funny little witches from the country, up for a day's shopping; venerable-looking wizards arguing over the latest article in Transfiguration Today; wild-looking warlocks; raucous dwarfs; and once, what looked suspiciously like a hag, who ordered a plate of raw liver from behind a thick woollen balaclava.  
His daytime explorations took him to all the shops he had never had the chance to properly look around before, and without the pre-hogwarts shopping crowds, or the presence of Ron and Hermione dictating the next move, he found himself losing several hours to the back shelves of Flourish and Blotts, or poking around the most fascinating paraphernalia of Quincey’s Magical Junkshop, or Wiseacres Wizarding Equipment. He was sorely tempted by the solid gold Gobstones, and very nearly broke his resolve with the beautifully made perfect moving model of the galaxy in a globe, having to keep reminding himself that these were not items he absolutely required, and his money had to last him until he graduated from Hogwarts and secured a job.  
He also spent his afternoons doing his homework in the bright sunlight, while eating ice cream at Fortesques. But even in his happiest moment of freedom, there remained the undercurrent of unease. Someone was watching him. He kept seeing the same face in the crowds, watching from behind a bookshelf, or reflected in a shop window. The flash of red hair at first made him think it was a Weasley, but they were in Egypt visiting Bill… and in any case, the Weasleys were his friends and would not have simply watched from a distance. A glint of green eyes in passing had him turning his head like an owl, but to no avail. 

In the end, however, it was not his vigilance that brought the mysterious watcher to him, but his ignorance. Walking past the entrance to Knockturn Alley, and not paying enough attention to his surroundings, Harry collided with an old woman, wrapped in a heavy shawl with very little of her face showing. Even as he reeled back and she began to fall, quick as a snake one gnarled and warty old hand shot out and caught his wrist, keeping them both on their feet and pulling Harry closer to the now uncovered and suddenly very noticeable sharp teeth of what could only be a Hag. 

“Rude little chilldren need to learn mannerss” she hissed, pulling a still dazed Harry into the shadows of Knockturn Alley. Her grip tightened, cutting off the circulation in his wrist, and her other hand moved towards his throat, claw-like nails poised to cut. 

A whispered curse in what sounded like French was the only warning Harry had before the Hag was blasted across the alleyway and into the wall, losing her grip on him in the process. From the floor, Harry squinted up at his rescuer. Deep red hair framed a delicate marble face, and sparkling green eyes of a distinctive hue looked back at his own matching pair --

“... M.. Mum!?” 

Smiling sadly, the woman leant over him, and gently tapped the side of his head with her finger. Harry’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he went limp as consciousness fled.


	2. Revelations

# Chapter Two: Revelations

  
  


Waking up on his bed in the Leaky Cauldron, Harry simply lay there for a moment, blinking at the ceiling. Had he really seen his dead mother? What had happened? And how did he get back to his room? The sound of a book closing from the direction of his desk brought his whirling thoughts to a screeching halt, and he froze, not daring to turn his head and look. Not sure if he even wanted to know if he had or had not hallucinated the entire thing.  


“I know you’re awake Harry. That spell was very precisely timed. You don’t need to worry, you’re perfectly safe, and I have no intentions of ever hurting you.”  


The soft, melodic voice was entirely new. Slightly accented, but oddly so. It seemed to flow between a faint tinge of French, and some form of English that just didn’t quite sound right, like something that belonged, but just felt… older. 

 

Gingerly, Harry turned his head, and sat up. The woman from the alley sat opposite him, red dress-robes perfectly draped, but cut short, revealing sturdy dragon-hide boots and gold leather trous, and her hands calmly rested on the cover of the ancient looking gilt edged red tome in her lap.  
He had not imagined it. Her eyes were the very twins of his his own, but her hair, now that he saw it in the light, was a much deeper shade than the photos of Lily Evans had displayed. 

“You’re not my mother.” A rather obvious statement, given that his parents were both somewhat famously very much dead. 

“No. But right direction.”

“... I have another Aunt?... Cousin?...” couldn’t be. Aunt Petunia had never made any mention whatsoever of other magical relatives in the family. But she wouldn’t have, would she? She had barely acknowledged Lily’s existence, and then only because it wasn’t exactly possible to hide it.  
The woman smiled slightly, seeming to know exactly where his thoughts had gone. “Try a relation from a little bit further back than that.”

Harry looked her over a bit more closely. White lions with black crowns were embroidered along the hems of her robes, which seemed to be rather more heavily styled in the old fashioned traditional cut than even the old ladies of the teashop wore, her wand holster hung from a medieval looking belt of intricately worked leather inlaid with gold wire, and there was a clear worn patch on the opposite side of the belt where some other type of holster would normally have rested. She herself couldn’t have been more than mid-twenties… and yet, her eyes held a piercing quality to outmatch even Dumbledore’s, her face at rest looked carved of marble, and there was a wariness and watchfulness about her that spoke of long years of turmoil and danger.  


Harry had absolutely no idea how old she was, and said so. Smirking a little, the woman lifted the book in her lap and showed him the cover.  
“The Lions of Brittany: Muggle and Magical descendancy of the de Clisson family” he read. Then looked more closely at the picture. It depicted a coat of arms featuring a white lion wearing a gold crown, borne on a tabard that could have been on any traditional knightly figure. But this figure was a woman, at the helm of a black ship. A woman with a disturbingly close similarity to the woman sitting in front of him. 

“My name” she told him “is Jeanne de Clisson, and in my own time, I was known as the Lioness of Brittany. You are one of my descendants.”

 

Harry stared at her for a moment. 

“You’re joking.” He said, flatly. “There is absolutely no way you’re old enough to have been living in medieval times. Nicholas Flamel is the only one to have lived that long, and he had the secret of the Philosophers Stone.”

“I’m very much aware of Nicholas and Perenelle’s story, child. They were two of my dearest friends for a century or two, before I had to go on a business trip and lost contact with them. It is very hard to find people with whom one can truly share the weight of age after the second century of life, so when we do find similarly long-lived compatriots, we tend to stay in touch.”

“But… but, that means you made a Stone too!”

“No. It simply means that I also had a method of attaining immortality. Or at least, extreme longevity, at any rate. But it was not the intention, merely a side effect of a deal. I may tell you the full epic of that story at a later time, but right now, I am concerned with ensuring the continued existence, safety, and comfort of my only living magical descendant.”

“Magical?” interrupted Harry “Then there are..”

“Oh yes. There are plenty of Muggle lines out there, it would be very hard for there not to be, even with the problems brought about by the French Troubles and Revolutions, when I was married four times, with eight children, seven of whom survived to adulthood and had children of their own. Families did tend to expand rapidly in those days. There are, at present, two lines of descent from my sons, and three from my daughters, as verified by the bloodline tracking spells I placed on all of my surviving children before pretending to die at a suitable age. You and your mother were the descendants of the only child I bore after making the deal that made me as I am now, from my fourth husband. And that also makes you the only magical heirs of my line.”

“Wait… how does that work? You can’t have had seven squib children out of three husbands?”

“I didn’t. I had had seven muggle children, from three muggle husbands, as a muggle woman.”

Jeanne smirked, enjoying the look of absolute confusion on Harry’s face as he tried to reconcile this information with everything he had been told about magical bloodlines and genetics. “Try not to worry about it too much, dear. It’ll make more sense when I get around to telling you the epic of my life. Fate can be a very tricky thing, you know.”

 

With his brain refusing to process the last few minutes of information, Harry latched onto what seemed the most important part of her claims. “If you’re my.. Ancestress? And knew I existed and mum was dead, how come I got left with the Dursleys to be beaten and starved? Why did you never look in on me before?”

A flash of guilt crossed Jeanne’s face, and she sighed sadly before answering.  
“Everything I knew of you was what the bloodline charms recorded in the book of our family. It always alerts me to a birth and a death, so I knew when you were born. I knew who your parents were, and your father's main bloodline inheritances. And I knew when they died. When I looked at your trackers, they told me only the facts. That you were alive, that you were in the keeping of your aunt, a squib-born of my line, and that your appointed magical guardian - after the ineligibility by incarceration or committing of your named godparents - was a man greatly respected and liked by the wizarding world in general and my friend Nicholas in particular, so I saw no reason to look closer.”

“Then why come now? I saw you in the street, the night I ran away. You were there.” 

“Yes. I have, lets us say, a certain skill for perceiving the lines of fates weave. When particularly important potential changes to destiny’s tapestry appear, I sense them. And when they are tied to my own bloodline, the humming of the tightened threads practically screams in my ear.”

“Wait… I’m important to fate? I have some great destiny?... Its to do with Voldemort, isn’t it? Everything always falls back to being something to do with Voldemort. Even that escaped murderer, Black.”

“I’m afraid so. There is a prophecy regarding the two of you, but rules of prophecy dictate that the only ones who can tell it are the ones to whom it was delivered. I can see its general outline, but I do not know its specifics. I do know that when you almost died a few months ago, that was very much not in destinies plan. There was a quick intervention from a Flame of Mazoe before I could even get in position to properly scry you out, so I still have no idea what happened then, but it did lead me to start putting proper observation charms on you. I was not happy to find out just how badly you were being treated, and the buildup of tension in fates weave that night had me watching closely. Had you not tripped and called the Knight Bus when you did, there was a very real chance that a muggle driver, drunk and uncontrolled, would have hit you not two minutes later. I was in place to stop it.”

“A… Flame of Mazoo? What’s that? And observation charms? Thats a bit creepy… though I guess I should be glad of it.”

“A Flame of Mah-zoh.” she enunciated “I believe they’re more commonly known as Phoenixes. They’ve always been sensitive to Fates chosen being in mortal danger.”

“Oh. You’re talking about Fawkes crying on me when I got bit by that Basilisk.” Harry realised.

Jeanne tensed, and her eyes flashed dangerously. “You. Got bit. By a Basilisk.”  
“Er… yes?”

“You. My only magical descendant. Who was, at the time, twelve years old. Were in a situation. Where you had to face. A Basilisk.”

“Well I had to do something! It was being let loose on the school all year by this evil school-aged-Voldemort possessed diary that was feeding off my best friends little sister! I did manage to kill it, and destroy the diary to save her, at least!” 

“That… is very well done. But entirely besides the point! You should not have had to be in that situation in the first place! This was at school? Where were the teachers? The adults whose job it is to deal with this sort of thing?! Why were the students even still at this school if it had been happening all year?”

“The teachers had no idea where to look.” Harry said stubbornly.”They were just sitting around wringing their hands and being useless. They didn’t even believe the monster and chamber were real until the first petrification.”

“So, let me get this straight.” Jeanne replied, very carefully keeping her voice calm, and controlled. “You have been placed since infancy with an abusive family and starved enough that you obviously have deficiencies in your growth and overall health. And once old enough to go to school where you should have been protected and guided during these important years of learning and maturation, you are instead surrounded by incompetent teachers who cannot even get the basic concept of removing the children from the building with a monster running loose in it right. And ended up facing down a creature more deadly than almost any other inexistence. Alone.”

Harry half-shrugged, and ran his hand through his hair sheepishly. “Well… yeah. I guess so. I helped take down a troll, and faced off against Voldemort’s shade as it tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone the year before, though, so it wasn’t really a new thing to be in danger.”

“That does not, in any way, make it better!” Jeanne seemed to be struggling with herself for a moment before settling into a determined look of stubbornness that Ron and Hermione, had they been present, would have recognised as being exactly the same as Harry at his most unmoveable. “I’m assuming you attend Hogwarts? You are a British born magical child, and your magical guardian is the Headmaster there.”

“Wait! Dumbledore’s my magical guardian?!” Harry demanded incredulously.

“I’ll take that as a yes. And yes. Did you not know? Surely he must have told you when he took you to register for your lesser majority lordship of House Potter? It would have been a prominent part of the ritual, the Guardian and Regent of the Heir announcing his coming of lesser majority, and the establishment of greater rights to the Heir while reaffirming the powers of the Regent.”

“My what, now?”

Jeannes eyes flashed with green fire. It was with an obvious struggle of willpower that she kept herself in her seat and did not raise her voice in angry disbelief, or begin ranting.  
“You know nothing of your inheritance or titles, do you. Okay then. I can fix this. I will fix this. You’re coming with me, and we are going to Gringotts. Right now. I’m a blood relative, and matriarch of your mother’s bloodline. I have the right of blood required to oust him and take your guardianship directly. Yes. We’re doing that. Right now.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before Harry could really take in the rushed jumble of words, she lurched to her feet, grabbed his elbow, and the next thing he knew, he was staring up at the imposing facade of Gringotts,which was weaving in his vision as he swayed dizzily.  
Still with his arm firmly in her grip, Jeanne marched into the bank and straight to the Head Goblin, sitting at the far end on his raised podium desk. 

Peering over his glasses at the two before him, the Head Goblin briefly appeared startled to see the embroidery on Jeanne's robes, before a professional mask fell into place.  
“Yes? I presume you are here for private consultation of import, to be at my desk?”

“Yes, Grahz-Ha Ragnok.” Jeanne replied, making a short half bow with three finger pressed to her sternum. “I seek the transferal of Guardianship over a minor Heir, by right of blood, and reason of requirements unfulfilled by the current Regent. I will then be seeking an immediate ritual declaration and contract of Heirs Lesser Majority.” 

“Ah. I see. And I presume it is the individual accompanying you whose accounts manager will be required in attendance.”

“Yes, Grahz-Ha. Along with my own, if they are available. I am aware that it is more usually preferred to provide advance notice for my accounts.”

“This once, I believe I can accommodate your needs promptly. If you would proceed to Consultation Room Three, I will have Bohrgezähe and Kaukamm meet you both there.” He indicated a side corridor leading deeper into the bank, and dispatched two floating metal balls in different colour schemes, one bearing the Clisson crest and the other the Potter crest, into what appeared to be a message tube. 

With another half-bow, Jeanne led the still confused Harry down the indicated corridor, and into the third door on the right. Inside the sparse, but well appointed chamber, Harry finally regained his metaphorical feet, and pulled his arm free. 

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded, rubbing circulation back into his forearm. 

Now a bit calmer, Jeanne sat back in one of the comfortable looking velvet-cushioned chairs, and smiled a little sheepishly. “Sorry, I tend towards immediate action when I find a problem to fix. So, your current magical guardian is Albus Dumbledore, who appointed himself, most likely.”

“Why? You said something about godparents earlier...”

“Yes, yes I did. As in the muggle world, magical families appoint godparents to stand in loco-parentis to a specified child or children, should the need occur. As named godparents by binding magical rules, the Bloodlines tome recorded their names and status in relation to you, just the same as your father. Your godmother is, and has been for twelve years, a resident patient of St Mungos, the British Wizarding Hospital, suffering from mental trauma and severe memory loss as a result of an attack, most likely by death eaters, alongside her husband. Naturally, she is incapable of looking after herself and her own child, let alone you.”

“And my godfather?” Harry asked, quietly. “What happened to him? And who were they?”

“Your godfather,” Jeanne began, slightly reluctantly, “was rendered ineligible by reason of incarceration.” She paused, briefly. “In short, your godfather was sent to prison very shortly after your parents deaths, for murder.” 

Harry sat down sharply, the small bubble of hope in his chest evaporating like mist in the sun. Much subdued he tremulously asked “Who… who did he kill?” 

“That” Jeanne replied, “I’m afraid I don’t know. It wasn’t a required piece of information for his status, so the charm did not record it.” 

“It is, however, a question I can answer” came a new voice from the door, gravelly and strong. Turning to look, Harry saw a youngish looking goblin escorting an ancient one, acting as guide and walking stick both for his elder, who was so wizened that one could barely see his misty eyes from beneath the wrinkles of his face. “I am Kaukamm” the younger goblin continued, closing the door and setting wards as he did so “manager of the Potter accounts. My respected Elder is Bohrgezähe, the manager of the de Clisson and Gallizenae accounts.” 

Rising from her chair respectfully, Jeanne gave another of her half-bows, and inclined her head gracefully to the newcomers. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Kaukamm, and an honour to see you once more, great Bohrgezähe. I am Lady de Clisson, and my young friend here is my descendant, Harry James Potter. I seek to assume his Guardianship, and also proclaim his Lesser Majority.”

“Excellent, straight to business. Please take your seats, and we will begin the confirmations of identity, status and relation.” So saying, Kaukumm helped the elder into his seat, and produced three rolls of parchment, along with two potions in blue crystal vials, and a strange rock that seemed to shift and possessed an inner flame. “Place a drop of your blood into one of these potions each, and pour your own onto a separate roll of parchment.”

Conjuring a small dagger with her wand, Jeanne pricked her finger and allowed a drop of blood to fall into one of the vials, giving it a moment for the potion to react, flaring briefly gold, before pouring it onto one of the provided rolls of parchment. Harry watched in fascination as Jeannes name appeared in exquisite calligraphy at the top of the roll, followed by a long list of titles. Beneath the titles, and separated by a small Clisson crest, was a list of the vault numbers she had access to.  
Eagerly, Harry took the proffered dagger from her, and repeated the process for himself with the other potion and scroll. Immediately his own name appeared on the parchment, followed by: Designated Heir: House Potter  
Designated Heir: House Black  
Designated Heir: House Lestrange  
Heir by Conquest: House Slytherin. 

Primary and Prominent Bloodlines:  
Potter  
Peverell  
de Clisson

Staring down in shock, Harry numbly asked “H… how?”

“That is perfectly simple, Mr Potter” replied Kaukamm. “Naturally, as the surviving member of House Potter, you are it designated Heir. As for the others, your godfather was a free man at the time of your parents death, and so was legally your appointed guardian for a brief time. With no heirs of his own, and no surviving siblings, you as his godson became his designated heir. Two days after Heir-Designate Blacks imprisonment, the Lord and Lady Lestrange formally adopted you, but were subsequently and almost immediately arrested for the torturing to insanity of your godmother and her husband, as well as the murder of a muggle when they appeared at the home of your mothers sister. As to House Slytherin, I could not say for certain, but an Heir by Conquest is an indication that you have defeated the former Heir of House Slytherin, and his titles and status have devolved to you by the ancient laws of Right of Conquest. As the dark wizard you are renowned for defeating was claiming to be said Heir, I find that to have most likely been the case.  
Please place your cut finger onto this indent on the stone, and Lady de Clisson, do the same on the other side.”

Numbly, Harry did as he was told. Barely able to take in anything that was being said around him. His godfather had been Heir to House Black… and was arrested very soon after his parents murder… His godfather was Sirius Black! And he had - briefly - been adopted! By torturing murderers! How was this even his life?  
So wrapped up in his thoughts was he, that Harry barely noted the strange stone he and Jeannes fingers were touching shine gold, then green, before returning to its normal state. And whatever the two goblins were saying to Jeanne as a result was completely lost to him.

The third roll of parchment was set on the table, and a complex set of runes in a ritual circle were inscribed with painstaking precision by the elder goblin. Two smaller pieces of parchment appeared on the table, and Jeanne gently shook his shoulder until his eyes refocused and he looked up at her. There was deep sympathy in her eyes as Jeanne looked at pale, shocked child beside her.  
“Harry. Harry, I know this is a lot to take in all at once. I just need you to focus a moment. Read out the formal words of declaration from this paper, sign the scroll with a blood quill, and we’ll be done. Then we can go to Fortesques and I’ll get you the biggest ice cream they sell, alright?”

Blinking owlishly, Harry nodded, and looked down at the paper in his hand.  
“I, Harry James Potter, Heir Designate of Houses Potter, Black, Lestrange, and Slytherin, do declare willingly and with no coercion or restraint that I am of age to claim my Lesser Majority, and lay formal claim to the aforementioned titles of Heir. I do declare my confidence in my acknowledged Regent, Lady Jeanne de Clisson, and confirm her right to the oversight of my assets and affairs. I confirm that all movements or sales of my assets, whether currency, stocks, possessions or property, may be actioned only by joint agreement between my Regent and myself, and acknowledge the reasonable spending limits placed upon my solo access to my trust fund, valued at a combined total of 1000 Galleons per year. With my blood and my magic, so mote it be.”  
Picking up the quill, Harry looked for ink.

“Its a blood quill, Harry. It’ll ink itself from your blood as you write. They’re heavily restricted, and only legal for use on important binding magical contracts such as this one, and only with oversight from a licensed bearer.”

Nodding, Harry bent over the scroll and scratched his name, flinching as cuts opened up in the back of his hand in time with the quills movements. When he stopped, the cuts vanished as quickly as they had come, and the contract glowed gold, before duplicating itself twice, and rolling itself up. Picking up a ribbon and some wax, Kaukamm presented it to Bohrgezähe, who sealed it with his Gringotts Senior Management signet ring. Presenting the wax to Jeanne, she sealed the second copy with the signet ring upon her own hand, and in a daze, Harry did the same on the third scroll, using the Potter crest signet ring that had appeared on his hand the moment he had put down the quill.

“Excellent.” Kaukamm stated, as the original scroll went into his pouch. “I shall archive this in the Potter Accounts ledger, and look forward to doing business with you in the future. Congratulations on your Lesser Majority, Heir Potter.” 

Still reeling from the revelations of the day, Harry nodded and gave a tremulous smile. Jeanne bowed once more to the two goblins, thanked them for their time, and escorted her still shell-shocked ward from the building.

“Right then. To Fortesques! Anything else can wait until tomorrow.”


	3. All Change

# Chapter Three: All Change

  
  


Back at the Leaky Cauldron, full of the best ice cream available at Fortesques Ice cream Parlour -- a multi-tiered rainbow confection with a different flavour in every stripe, shaped like a castle, with tiny wafer knights and cream dragons moving around it, and all topped off with sparkling sprinkles that fizzed in the mouth and painted the tongue in rainbow stripes -- Harry sipped at a hot chocolate laced with calming and sleep-aid draughts, curled up in an armchair by the fire of a private parlour.  
It had been one hell of a day. Jeanne had left him with a smaller book that was apparently a companion piece to the main family bloodlines tome, detailing notable exploits and inventions of the various descendants of her children. She had even bookmarked the section dealing with her magical line, although she had also made sure to mention that that line produced more squibs than wizards, and always had. Yet another side effect of the mysterious process that made her both a witch, and given her her youthful immortality. Harry had yet to open it. He was deeply curious, but also wanted to relax a bit and take in all of the surprises the day had already dropped on him, and wasn’t sure he could cope with anything further just yet.

In another armchair, this one with a writing desk attachment, Jeanne glanced over at the child. All things considered, he had taken everything rather well. There had been no major flare ups of the family temper that had always seemed to crop up alongside the distinctively shaded green eyes, and he hadn’t once outright rejected any of it, accepting the possibility, even when he was clearly still struggling to process it all. The little he had told her so far of his two years in the magical world assured her that the family aversion to a quiet life, and the somewhat inconvenient ‘saving-people’ complex, were both alive and well in him. She would be incredibly proud, if she didn’t already know that those traits were just going to lead him further into fates web. She was an old hand at maneuvering those trails, and knew there was no avoiding the final confrontation that lay at the end of his prophesied path, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t do everything possible as a guardian, matriarch, and loving *cough*times-great-grandmother, to prepare him to win.  
That was the thing about having a destiny. Fate never laid down the final result of its big plans. Just the major way points and conditions for its champions to be identified by.  
Finishing up the last of her letters, Jeanne glanced at the clock, and sighed. “It’s well past time you tried to get some sleep, Harry. We’ll go back over the important bits in the morning, when you’ve had a chance to adjust a bit and settle yourself.”  
Nodding tiredly, Harry finished his drink, and made for the stairs. Jeanne tidied up the parlour, and went to her own room, already looking ahead to the next days work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning dawned overcast and rainy, with definite hints of a storm inbound. Harry grumbled a bit about it from the armchair he was slouched in, since rain severely limited his ability to sit in the sunshine with ice cream, but Jeanne just laughed at him. “Didn’t you have enough ice cream yesterday? That thing was bigger than your head!” 

“So?” Harry replied, with all the sleepy grump of an early onset teenager who could still pack away more sugar than any adult could cope with at the drop of a pin. “That was yesterday, and I always get ice cream in the afternoon here. It helps the homework get done.”

“Well, I’m afraid today is going to be a bit busier than your normal routine in the Alley, so there won’t be time for ice cream homework bribes today anyway.” 

“What are we doing today? I thought you said all the ritual stuff that needed doing was done?” 

“It is.” came the indulgently amused reply. “And are you actually trying to get out of thinking about things with the excuse of having to do your less enjoyable remaining homework that needs you to really think about things?” 

“.... yes. I guess I am.” He heaved a sigh and reluctantly sat up properly. “Alright. What are we doing today?”

“Well first I need to make sure you understand just what yesterdays rituals actually meant.”

“Erm… well. You’re now the adult responsible for me, and I get up to 1000 galleons a year to spend how I like?”

“.... Okay, so that is technically accurate, yes. Basically, when a child of a pureblood House is left orphaned, a magical guardian is appointed, and if they are the only remaining member of that House, their guardian is also their regent. Up until yesterday, with both of your godparents - who would have been the natural choices - unavailable, your guardian and regent was Albus Dumbledore. He most likely just claimed the role before anyone realised it was vacant, and then proceeded as if it was normal, so nobody challenged him.” She paused to check if Harry was following her. Seeing that he seemed to be keeping up, she continued. “As the surviving heir to your House - as well as several others, it turns out - it was expected that when you reached your eleventh year, and began your training in magic, your regent would acknowledge this advancement of your state, and declare your lesser majority. Essentially, a limited transferal of some of the regents powers to yourself, with oversight, to begin preparing you to take full responsibility and lordship of your House when you came of age at seventeen.”

“But none of that happened. I didn’t even know my family was one of these Houses. Or that they were important like that.”

“Precisely. And you were never taken for the lineage blood test needed to confirm your right to access your family vaults either. You were left with the impression that your Trust Vault was the only family vault, and your only source of money.”

“It’s not?”

“No. You also have the main family money vaults for all four Houses to which you have claim, as well as their separate artifact vaults, and all private individual vaults left unallocated by will from deceased members of those Houses. I’ll take you through the full accounts and ledgers next summer, when we have the time to begin teaching you your full inheritances and basic management of your assets. For now, just know that you will literally never have to worry about money.  
Back on to the main point; I used the strength of my blood connection, combined with Dumbledores failure to follow Line Heir protocol, to take his place as your guardian and regent. I then had your lesser majority declared, which has left you with wider access to your holdings, though any movements of anything from any vault save your Trust Vault will require approval from both of us. I do retain the power to determine your place of residence and the method of your education, however.”

“Wait! You’re not pulling me out of Hogwarts!” Harry yelped, seeing where this might be going.

“I most certainly am, youngling. It is not in the least bit safe for you there, I have no trust in the Headmasters ability to protect you, nor his motives for his choices in your life thus far, and the educational standards have been getting lower for years from that school. I checked the yearly OWL and NEWT grades from Hogwarts graduates over the last twenty years this morning, and there has been a steady and noticeable decline in the average percentage of students gaining passing or higher grades across every subject. No. You will be transferred to a much more acceptable school with consistently excellent results.”

“But… but I’ve been down for Hogwarts since birth! And all my friends are there! And I don’t want to go to Durmstrang. That’s where Malfoy wanted to go!” Harry was, by this point, pacing the floor as he gesticulated wildly.

“Do pause and think, for a moment, Harry. I never said it would be Durmstrang. There are more schools in the world than just the two, and I’m perfectly capable of homeschooling you if I really needed to. It makes no difference to me that you have been on Hogwarts rolls since birth, I am your guardian and when your school is not up to scratch either academically or in its protections, I am perfectly within my rights to move you. As for your friends, I’m sure you will make more at Beauxbatons, and I have no issues with your current friends remaining in contact and coming to visit. Though my estates are heavily warded, so I would need to run some basic scans and checks to confirm their intentions and key them to the guest-access wards.”

Harrys pacing slowed a little, and he relaxed a bit. “Well… as long as I don’t have to cut off contact with Ron and Hermione.”

“Not in the slightest. One variable that remains constant in any walk of life, but especially for one of Fates chosen, is that the paths of destiny are invariably easier to walk when one has the support and aid of true friends.”

“Oh. Good.” Harry said, a little uncertainly. “Um… you’ve used that term before… ‘Fates chosen’... what is that?”

“That is simply the term used to refer to anyone who has been the subject of a major prophecy. Your counterpart, Voldemort, is also a Fates chosen. Historical others have tended rather to enter into myth over time. Achilles, Jason, Arthur, Hercules… They all fell under that category. Merlin was a big player in Arthurs story, but was never actually the subject of a prophecy, so he didn’t count as a chosen. He was a designated pawn in destinys web, though. Arthur would never have made it to his journeys milestones without Merlin to guide him.” 

“I’m going to become a legend?!”

“Possibly. You have certainly begun to be, as a living legend of the Wizarding World. But until your story is played out, and the result comes clear, there is no way to know if you will turn into the hero or the villain of the piece. After all, it is the victor who writes the story. Not the vanquished.”  
Harry thought Jeanne seemed just a little too accepting of this statement, and said so.  
“When you have been around as long as I have, and watched more of these tales come and go than can be even remotely accurately remembered, you’ll come to a certain acceptance of the inevitability of humanities tendencies too. Now, there is nothing to say I have to just let you flounder along on your own. I’m entirely capable and permitted to train you up and ensure you have everything you could possibly need to prepare you for the eventual battle, and since I am rather fond of you and have no intentions of letting my only magical bloodline die out completely - or be left in the hands of Petunias descendants - I intend to do precisely that.  
Starting with moving your mothers protective bloodwards to anchor points on my estates, and transferring you to Beauxbatons. But first, drink these.”

Blinking, Harry looked at the potions that had just been thrust into his hands, then back up at Jeanne. “What are they for?”

“Caution, thats a good trait to have. But unnecessary in this case. Those are a nutrition potion and a cleansing potion, they’ll clear out any unhealthy curse or poison residue build up, and start giving your body the nutrients it needs to grow properly. I’ll have you fully healed by the Gallizenae when we go to introduce you to them. They are the Priestesses of Fate, so they’ll be more than happy to make sure a chosen is in the best condition possible.”

“This is one of those things that’ll need a full explanation during your story, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. They are - complicated. And since I’m sure you were wondering, they can only heal, help, or advise a chosen who comes to them, as they are restricted to their island and temple, and cannot leave. Mostly, they simply watch and record, only sending out a Hand of Fate - that would be me, yes another part bit that needs the full story to explain - to intervene if something is going so drastically wrong that the weave will break without it.”

Harry decided not to look too deeply into that one. He really didn’t want to bring yesterdays confusion headache back. “Okay… so, anyway, what are we doing today, now that that’s all been cleared up?”

“Oh, that’s simple. We’re going shopping!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the end of the day, Harry had learned, thoroughly and well, to fear that sentence ever coming from Jeannes mouth again.

According to her, Harry needed an entirely new wardrobe, with options in seven different colour schemes, and at least three complete outfits for any occasion possible. He never wanted to imagine a time where he might have to wear the red and blue tunic robe and gold leather pants. Or the absolutely hideous shade of yellow with black and silver embroidery dress robe. Jeanne simply laughed at his objections and reminded him that he had four Houses to represent in society, each with its own colours, and he must simply learn to cope with some of the more unflattering House colours.  
She did, at least, also get him a full muggle style wardrobe in designs and colours of his own choice. But then came the new level of his personal hell that was shoe shopping. Harry was of the firm opinion that a pair of trainers without holes in them, and a pair of black boots for school, was all he needed. Jeanne disagreed. He was pretty sure, by the end of it, that whatever his new room looked like, it was going to have a cupboard twice the size, just for his new shoes and boots. He had no complaints about the full set of dragonhide armour spelled to grow with him, and covered in cushioning and protective charms, however. 

After spending hours moving between Gladrags and Twilfit and Tattings, they moved on to Wiseacres, where Harry finally got that galaxy in a globe, and Jeanne insisted on replacing all of his perfectly adequate school equipment with its absolute top of the line equivalent.  
Next up was Quality Quidditch Supplies, where he temporarily found himself in heaven, as Jeanne insisted on every possible improvement and addition she could get for his Quidditch gear, and then told him he was getting a broom upgrade when they saw that a broom called the Firebolt had just arrived on the market. Harry took one look at the sign saying “price on request” and blanched while staring longingly. Jeanne simply marched off to see the manager, and returned ten minutes later with two brand new Firebolts over her shoulder. And a full quidditch ball set box in her other hand. 

All through the day, as more and more purchases were made, a small house elf answering to the name of Cordy popped in and out, taking everything to what presumed were the estates Jeanne had spoken of. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was as they were leaving Eyelop’s Owl Emporium, with toys and treats for Hedwig, that a familiar and much hated voice drawled out from ahead of them.  
“Potter! Fancy seeing you here. Been let out of your filthy muggle house early for good behaviour have you?”

“Malfoy. Don’t you ever have anything better to do than annoy me?”

“Just reminding you where you chose to belong, Potter. Can’t have a friend of mudbloods and blood traitors getting above himself.”

“You don’t get to call them that, Malfoy!” Harry stepped forward, fists clenching angrily.

“Hit a nerve, did I? It’s not surprising, really. Looks like you've found another Weasley to hang off your robes and pretend is your mother.” the pale Slytherin sneered, pointedly.

Jeanne put a restraining hand on Harrys shoulder as she looked disdainfully down at the unpleasant young boy in front of her. “I see the House of Malfoi has not learned better manners or social graces in the years since they left Brittany. Your ancestors must be so proud to have had their narrow minded bigotry survive the centuries intact.”

Malfoy looked at her, surprised. “And what would a blood traitor Weasley know of a true Houses history?”

“Not much, I’m sure. But the matriarch of House de Clisson, Guardian and Regent of House Potter, Black, Lestrange and Slytherin, knows a very great deal about the bloodlines and Houses who found their start as her family's vassals.” The knowing smirk Jeanne gave was cold as an arctic winter. “And I most certainly do not appreciate the slurs upon the character of a de Clisson descendant, particularly one who is also Heir-confirmed of four Houses.”

Paling noticeably, even under his normal pale complexion, Malfoy really look at the woman before him; his eyes widened in horror as he finally took in the distinctive cut of the robes, the crest worked into the embroidery, and the very, very recognisable signet ring upon her hand. A signet that appeared on several of his family's most important documents, all pertaining to the original establishment of their House, and the formal release from their vows of vassal hood. Most importantly, he remembered with a sinking feeling, that release was contingent upon his family never placing themselves against the de Clisson stated interests. 

Seeing the thought process work its way across the boys face, Jeanne nodded in satisfaction. “Come Lordling, it is a long way to Brittany, and you have very little time before term begins to learn French. The students of Beauxbatons have a much higher standard of social grace than Hogwarts appears to permit, so I shall have to ensure your education in that is up to scratch as well.” Sweeping off with a surprised but delightedly smirking Harry in her wake, she left the young Malfoy Heir stunned and gaping where he stood.


	4. Loose Ends

# Chapter Four: Loose Ends

  
  


The less said about international Portkeys, the better, in Harry’s most heartfelt opinion.

Jeanne, it turned out, had one that took her back to the de Clisson estates regardless of where she was in the world. It was, of course, shaped like a lion carved out of marble. It was also pretending to be a necklace, and for some reason that he couldn’t understand, it was activated with the phrase “3...2...1… ACTIVATE!”. He had no idea if the overly loud and deliberately deepened announcer voice Jeanne had put on to say it was a required part of the magic or not. 

Regardless of the specific intricacies of international magical transportation, and bizarre french women’s preferences for the settings, Harry firmly decided right there and then as he lay on the soft, thick carpets where he had been deposited, that he was never taking a portkey again as long as he lived. The sensation of a hook catching in his guts and hoisting him around. The screaming pressure of reality warping around him in his ears. The near blinding and deeply nauseating whirling colours - many of which he was fairly certain didn’t even exist in nature. It was, without a doubt, the most miserable way to travel. Ever. Next time he had to go somewhere that he couldn’t just fly or floo to, he was taking the muggle way, and be damned to it. 

Jeanne watched sympathetically, but with more than a hint of amusement on her lips, as her wards complexion ran the gamut from green, through deathly pale to deepest crimson and back again, before finally settling somewhere just the paler side of normal. It took several more minutes for his hands to release their death-grip on the carpeting and the shudders to stop.  
“Never. Again.” she heard him groan into the floor. Quietly resolving to keep portkey travel to an absolute minimum for him, she gently helped the boy stand up and take a few breaths to steady himself before his eyes focused enough to look around. 

Castel Clisson sat upon a raised mound, rising up from the surrounding forests almost exactly like every fairy tale illustration of a castle in the woods that ever appeared in muggle literature. It was grand. It was sweeping. It was complex. It was also, as Harry noticed when looking out through the open doors of the gatehouse that served as the only permitted floo, apparation and portkey point on the premises, red. And not just the pinkish red of sandstone. The entire castle had been built of deep, crimson red marbles and granites, streaked with veins of white and intricately worked gold. It glowed in the setting sun, vibrant and alive, but looking ever so slightly disturbingly blood drenched in the process. The high spires and vaulted rooftops were thick shale, magically reinforced, and black as a moonless night, as were the marble and granite ledges, windowsills, and door frames. Enchanted stone gargoyles roamed the rooftops, patrolling, posing a serious hazard to any pigeons seeking to nest, and occasionally attempting to outdo each other in waterspout-spitting distance competitions.  
The main doors themselves, imposing and elegant at once, were ironwood, and glowed their own deep russet gloss. Carved into the front was the de Clisson Lion, picked out in gold and silver, and charmed to move and look about itself. It also - though Harry didn’t know it - acted as gate guard, warden, and first line of defense if any attack were to breach the walls of the golem-lion-covered bailey surrounding them. 

Harry took all of this in, gaping in slack jawed astonishment, as he stood in the doorway of the gatehouse.  
Jeanne stood just behind him, allowing him an unhindered view of the magnificent place that she had lived in for so many centuries that she forgot to even look at it properly anymore. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as the light began to fade, and the gold streaks worked into the marble began to glow softly with an inner light of their own.

“Welcome home, Harry”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The inside of Castel Clisson was even more sumptuous than the outside, with large swathes of embossed and carved mahogany panelling, intricately detailed and vibrantly coloured tapestries, velvet upholstery on pretty much every item of furniture possible, and a general impression from the moment one stepped through the door of ancient nobility, wealth, and power. 

Harry didn’t see very much of the interior that first night, being portkey-lagged, tired, and more than a bit nauseous. He did manage to pay attention to his suite, however. Or more specifically, he zeroed in immediately on the luxurious bathroom with an already run bath of gloriously warm water, and a large selection of bath potions for any occasion and physical or emotional state. He spent an hour or so, simply relaxing in the large marble tub - this room was all golds and creams, for a change - while soothing music played from a gently glowing orb, and the bath potions soaked away the nausea, tension, and headache. Once he realised just how close he was to falling asleep right there and then, in the cocooning warm waters that never seemed to cool, he reluctantly dragged himself out and stepped inside a bamboo panelled cupboard that he assumed held the towels. Instead, he found a small space with a drain that looked like it was a shower space. Turning to leave, he noticed a small square, glowing softly, with the words “Tap twice, Bibulous” on it. Curious, Harry tapped the square twice, and when nothing happened immediately, spoke the word Bibulous. A glittering mist swirled out of what he had thought were air vents, and engulfed him in a personal glittery whirlwind for a moment, before swooping back to the vents. When his brain caught up with itself, he looked down to find that he was now completely dry, with skin that glimmered slightly - as though it had been coated in a much nicer version of the lotions and oils Aunt Petunia used to “keep her youthful beauty”.  
Shrugging, Harry decided he was just glad he wasn’t going to have to spend even longer getting dry, or risk sleeping in wet sheets. Leaving the bathroom, he crossed the clear floor of the bedroom and collapsed into the welcoming embrace of the giant canopied bed that awaited him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry woke to the morning sun streaming through large french windows, left open to reveal a balcony beyond, with a small table set up for breakfast. There was a pop, and the house elf he had seen in Diagon Alley was standing by his bed with a glass of water and his newly appointed morning dose of nutrient potions.  
“Master Harry bes getting up now. Breakfast is ready and the Mistress will bes wanting to speak with yous after her morning exercises. Young Master will find his wardrobes in the room beside the washroom. Tries to looks smart, Mistress is having an important visitor laters, and Young Master needs to look the part.”

“Um.. Okay? Er, am I supposed to be wearing any of those formal robes in the weird colours she was so insistent on yesterday?”

“Oh, the Young Master is nots representing any of his own Houses today, so just looking smarts will do. If he wants to bes wearing Clisson colours, that is goods too.”

“Right… Okay. I can do that, I guess. So, you said something about breakfast?” Harry asked as he finished the last of his potions and pulled on the dressing-robe that had been on his bedside table when he awoke. 

“Yes, Young Master. Please be takings a seat on the balcony, and Cordy will be bringings it up to you.”

Breakfast turned out to be a full plate of what he had been told was called an English Breakfast, and looked big enough to satisfy Dudleys appetite. He wasn’t entirely convinced that he would be able to eat even half of what was provided, but Cordy simply sniffed and informed him that he was far too thin and needed plenty of food to fuel all the healing and growth corrections his potions regimen was doing.  
To his surprise, Harry found himself eating over three quarters of his meal before finally dropping the bit of toast in his hand onto the plate in defeat. Looking out over the magnificent vista of pristine woodlands beyond the castle walls, he sat back and let everything settle, vaguely wondering if he could get away with going back to bed and sleeping it off. The pointed look Cordy gave him when she reappeared to clean up made it clear that no, he couldn’t. Sighing softly to himself, Harry pulled himself to his feet and shuffled to the door beside the still open entrance to the en suite of bliss. Walking into the wardrobe, he stopped and stared. It was almost as big as his bedroom - which was already bigger than the entire square footage of No. 4 - and boasted racks upon racks of neatly folded clothes, rails of hanging robes, an entire wall dedicated to all the shoes Jeanne had insisted on getting, and a raised platform surrounded by moveable full length mirrors in the center.  
Feeling more than a bit self-conscious and uncomfortable with yet another bit of unaccustomed and over the top luxury landing in his life, he grabbed a pair of black trousers and the nearest red tunic-robe. Looking at the wall of shoes in trepidation, he blinked when he realised one particular pair of dark red dragonhide boots with the de Clisson crest worked into the outer upper, and gold lining, was now backlit by a glowing light that the hastily grabbed tunic-robe - also bearing the de Clisson crest, he now noticed - was also emitting.

“O...kaaaayyyy…. Apparently my shoes are idiot-proof matched to my outfits now.” 

Grabbing the glowing boots just because it meant he didn’t have to care about his shoe choice, he dressed and checked his reflection in the mirrors. Immediately, Cordy appeared behind him with a pop and began fussing, straightening his belt and attempting to make his hair behave, before finally giving that up as a lost cause and simply hiding the worst of its tendencies by pinning it down with a plain gold circlet that he hated to admit did actually look rather good on him. 

“Young Master will do, Cordy supposes. The Mistress is waiting in the second study, off the main parlour, beside the ballroom. Cordy will show you.”

Out of the bedroom to his sitting room, through what he now realised were double doors, into a long corridor, walk for what felt like a mile, down a grand staircase to an equally grand entrance hall, through what Cordy called a reception chamber, through a posh looking living room that she told him was the parlour, and through a door into the study where Jeanne waited. Harry was bewildered, but figured that he’d pick up the trick of navigating this place soon enough. After all, it might be almost as big as Hogwarts, but at least the stairs didn’t move.

Waiting with Jeanne was most definitely the biggest woman Harry had ever seen. She was elegantly dressed, and appeared taller than Hagrid, though the chair she was seated in had clearly been designed with someone of her stature in mind, so he presumed Jeanne knew this lady well.  
Waving a hand at the empty chair opposite the newcomer, Jeanne smiled at her ward comfortingly. “Excellent timing Harry. I want you to meet a very dear friend of mine, and your future Headmistress, Madame Maxime. Olympe, this is my new ward, Harry Potter-Peverell.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Madame Maxime” Harry sketched an awkward bow as Jeanne had tried to teach him.

“Ah, Meester Potter-Peverellle. Eet is a pleasure. I ‘ave been told many things about your stay at ‘Ogwarts, and ‘ope to ensure your years at Beauxbatons will be much more suitable to the education of a young Lord such as yourself. I am sure you weel find zat ze grounds and weazher are much nicer zan those of ‘Ogwarts.”

“The educational standards and advanced study options are significantly better, as well.” Jeanne added. “Given the difference in standards between the two schools, Olympe has graciously set aside a large part of today to test your current knowledge and skill level, to determine what extra remedial studies you may need to take before and during your first term.” 

Harry had a sinking feeling that today was not going to reflect well on him. He had thus far coasted by on the bare minimum of effort, and relied on Hermione for most of the actual understanding and thinking. Looking back, he wasn’t quite sure why that was… he had always loved reading as a child, hiding from Dudley and his gang in the library frequently, and absorbed knowledge like a sponge. He hadn’t been allowed to show that knowledge, of course. Uncle Vernon would have beaten him bloody for daring to show up his darling Dudley, as Harry had learned the hard way very early on.  
Trying not to wince slightly at the thought of the trials ahead of hm that day, Harry did his best to seem happy about it. “Of course, Jeanne. Thank you for the opportunity and time, Madame.” 

“Eet is ze least I can do for ze ward of my old friend. Please, zink nozhink of eet.” Madame Maxime replied, graciously. The boy was trying, she could tell, but he was definitely going to need significant remedial study in the societal arts of courtesy and nobility.

“I have a fully warded training suite at the back of the castle, it should have everything you will need to test his knowledge and skills, Olympe. Cordy will gladly show you the way, and you need only call her if you require anything.”

“Zank you, Jeanne. You are as prepared and gracious an ‘ost as ever.”

“It is my absolute please, I can assure you Olympe.”  
With that, Madame Maxime stood, proving in that moment that she truly was even taller than Hagrid, and motioned for Harry to follow as Cordy began to deferentially lead the way. Pasting a neutral smile on his face, Harry followed after.

Smiling slightly, Jeanne pitied the boy. She knew there was very little chance that he would be even close to the same standard as Beauxbatons expected in its students after two years of study. He would have a grueling day and even longer year of catching up ahead of him. Today, however, she had another loose end to tie up. One that should soon be requesting permission to floo in to the Gatehouse from the Conseil d’Etat Magique - or the French Council of State for Magic - for the meeting she had suggested in her letter two days prior. Rising, she smoothed her formal dress robes into perfect presentation, and headed for the gatehouse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Albus Dumbledore stood in the Floo-network antechamber of the French Ministry’s international visitors lounge, pacing agitatedly. His week had begun badly, and only seemed to be getting worse. When Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban, he had thought it would only be a matter of a few days to recapture him, and had set up extra wards around the Dursley residence to catch him when he came after Harry. Sirius Black had never tripped those wards. And a month later, was still at large.  
At the start of this week, his most important piece in the intricate plan had run away from home after some inane argument with his family, and the imbecilic Fuge had allowed the boy to remain free in Diagon Alley. Bad, but salvageable. But then, two days ago, he had received an owl late at night from a woman he had never heard of, telling him she had stolen his carefully prepared pawn and was removing him from his influence. Oh, she claimed it was for the boys own good, and had some asinine belief that the boy needed to be kept safe and not sculpted into the weapon he needed to be, but Albus knew better. This woman was obviously some Dark witch who had gotten the jump on him, and now wanted to rub it into his face. He was only willing to go to this meeting in the hope of salvaging /something/ from the situation. And even then, only because the travel involved registering his destination and contact with both the British and French Ministries, so he couldn’t be made to disappear.  
The attendant who had been making the connection through the Floo pulled his head out of the fire and beckoned him over.  
“Ze Lady de Clisson will see you now, Meester Dumbledore.”  
Hiding his annoyance at being treated like a petitioner, Albus stepped into the fire and was whisked away. 

He emerged in a room of red marble, with dark wood panelling and a thick dark red carpet patterned with a white lion wearing a golden crown. Something about the design struck him as familiar, but he was distracted from that thought by the woman awaiting him.

She was tall. Her skin was pale and unnaturally smooth. Pure, deep red hair framed a face that could have been carved of marble. And her eyes were disconcertingly and worryingly familiar.

“Madame Clisson, I presume?”

“Professor Dumbledore. Welcome to my domain. And it is Lady de Clisson, thank you. I am the Head of my Family, after all, and due the honorifics involved.”

Albus forced himself not to growl. He needed to play the political game here, not let some Dark bint with no name of consequence get to him. “Of course, Lady de Clisson. I do apologise for the mistranslation.”

Mistranslation my arse, Jeanne thought with an internal snort. This fool was making her more certain with every second he stood there that she had made the best decision in removing Harry from his influence. 

“Quite all right, Professor. Quite all right. Do come upstairs to the parlour and we can begin.”  
There was no way in any future the Gallizenae might see that she was letting this man go past the threshold of the Gatehouse. He would not set one foot inside the Bailey, let alone get through the main doors to the castle proper. 

The upper floor of the Gatehouse was a well appointed parlour with very comfortable chairs, and a light arrangement of morning snacks with tea set out for them. Let it never be said the Clisson Lady didn’t do her duty to hospitality. 

One hospitality ritual of carefully polite phrases and dispersal of tea, small cakes, and biscuits later, the two got down to business.  
“I presume you wish to know more about my relation to Harry and how I came to take him in, Professor.”

“Well, as neither I nor any other was aware of any surviving relatives for the boy save his mother’s sister, it did come as a surprise to learn that one had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, so to speak.”

“Yes, well I am a distant relative in terms of blood, but I am also his most direct magical relative. I can assure you that an inquiry with Gringotts will confirm my relation and right to claim his guardianship. I have already had his Lesser Majority declared, and naturally, his assets and finances are being strictly monitored.”

“Young Harry cannot possibly be ready for his Lesser Majority!” Albus replied, shocked and annoyed that his pawn was being introduced to facets of his inheritance that he himself had worked hard to keep hidden and locked down. The boy had enough power just in his name, he had no need for the money and titles too! “Why, he has barely reentered our world.”

“I am aware of that. And the complete alienation from his heritage and birthright is one of the first problems that I have with your guardianship. Right behind placing him with a family who had proven time again to be utterly hostile to wizard kind in general, and Harry’s parents in particular.”

“He could not have been raised in the wizarding world. Too many would have sought to use him, kill him, or just completely ruin him with their hero worship. He was far better off away from all of that.”  
“There are several wizarding noble families with whom he could have lived, and not fallen prey to any of those issues. His godmother may not have been capable to care for him, but his godbrother was raised and protected by a very protective and highly respected matriarch who would have never let Harry get an over inflated ego, nor taken advantage of him. And I daresay having a brother to grow up alongside would have been greatly beneficial to both boys.”

“Augusta Longbottom is an old lady, and has more than enough on her head with the care of Alice and Frank, as well as raising Neville and seeing to her responsibilities as Lady of House Longbottom, and the chairs she holds in the Wizengamot and the Board of Directors. A second child on top of that, one she would have had to spend a great deal of time on, could easily have proven too much.”

“Yet, it is on record that she offered. And the option for adoption was clearly open, at least at first, since he was actually adopted within a day or two. It didn’t last long of course, since the Lestranges quickly found themselves in Azkaban, but it did happen. And I note that any further adoption attempts were immediately blocked, though they did go on record as having been requested.”

“After the Lestrange affair, it was far safer to ensure no other hidden Death Eaters with better control of themselves could follow their example to reach him. There is also the matter of the wards that dear Lily sacrificed herself to make.” Albus played his trump card. Resenting this woman who challenged his decisions. How dare she get in the way of his plan to save everyone! It was absolutely infuriating.

“Ah yes” Jeanne almost purred. He had walked right into it. “The wards of Olde Blood magic. The willing sacrifice of a young, healthy, fertile mother, all for the love of her child. Even the most ancient blood wards of noble houses were generally set in place across an entire property, and powerful with just an old and dying family member giving themselves to the ritual as sacrifice. A sacrifice such as Lily’s would have made a formidable ward over the boy indeed. Which is why it is particularly odd to note that I found them to be weak, and to have stretched to cover not just the boy, but his Aunt and her family, as well as their house. A ward of any kind, and especially a blood ward for family, needs magic to power it. That ward was feeding off the very child it was meant to protect, because there was no other source of power to keep it going, and it was unnaturally contorted to protect more than its original target. Contorted, in fact, to protect people its creator would never have wanted it near.  
A ward like that, as it was originally set, should have lasted Harry well past his natural lifespan, even unto protecting his bones and grave. Instead, had I left it as it was, it would have broken by the time he came of age, and lucky to last even that long.”

Dumbledore made to protest the clear and threatening insinuations, but she cut him off sharply.

“Let me make myself very clear. You have, to every way I can see it, conspired and plotted to place my last living magical relative in the very worst home situation possible. You have twisted and warped the protections his mother sacrificed herself to give him. And in the two years he has been in the magical world and under your direct supervision, he has been in near fatal and potentially fatal situations a total of eight times. The last of which was when he, as a twelve year old child, was forced to seek out and confront an ancient basilisk in order to protect his friends and save a little girl, while the adults whose job it was to keep he and his schoolmates safe sat around and did nothing. While student were being petrified, you made the deliberate choice to keep them locked in the building with the very monster you were denying the existence of, even though you had been present for its previous rampage.  
You are, without a doubt, completely unfit to be the guardian of any child, let alone one such as Harry. I personally do not understand how you have retained your position at Hogwarts as long as you have, and I refuse to allow Harry to return there, to be a student under your oversight. He is even now being tested by the representative of Beauxbatons, and I have no doubt that he will be found in need of much extra tutoring to catch him up to the level any other school would have expected a starting third year student to be in.  
And yes. I have the power to prevent any move you may attempt to make against me in the International Council of Wizards. You clearly do not recognise my name. That is a grave oversight on your part. Do not believe the rest of the international magical leadership has the same blindness to notable figures outside their own borders.”

Drawing himself up as regally as he could, Dumbledore looked down at this impertinent woman before him. “Do not so easily dismiss the greatest wizard of the age, my Lady. You will not succeed in corrupting that child away from the Light!” Lacking his wand, which had been kept in a safe deposit box at the French Ministry by standard procedure, he contented himself with stalking down to the fire and throwing the floo-powder in more viciously than necessary. 

“Albus” came Jeannes voice from behind him as he stepped into the flames. “I’m very disappointed in you. Be sure to apologize to my dear friends Nicholas and Perenelle for your ruining of their lifeswork with the bungled handling of the stone they lent you in good faith.”

The flames whisked him away before he could reply. But now he remembered where he had seen that lion emblem before… Nicholas Flamel had had a book of miniature portraits embossed with that image. Portraits of a woman in many different period clothes and settings. A woman who looked identical to the Lady de Clisson…

It was a very subdued and wondering Headmaster who returned to Hogwarts that night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With her ‘guest’ gone, Jeanne banished the man from her mind until the morrow, and turned to more pleasant matters. 

“Cordy”

“Yes Mistress”

“Prepare a large spread for myself, Harry and Olympe for dinner out on the veranda please. And have someone set up a race course through the forest so we can test out those new broms properly tomorrow.”

“At once Mistress.”

Jeanne smiled. It would be a busy few weeks, teaching Harry some basic society manners, taking him to the Gallizenae, and countering whatever move the foolish old goat came up with. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t grab some time to just have fun with her grandson. 

Firebolts looked like a splendid way to do that.


	5. The Lioness

# Chapter Five: The Lioness

  
  


Harry found that his second day in his new home was a great deal more enjoyable than his first. Not that that would be hard, considering just how rigorous and tiring the tests Madame Maxime had put him through the day before had been.  
But today, he woke early as his natural Aunt Petunia instilled sleeping pattern returned, took his nutrient potions, and had another giant breakfast on his private balcony, which turned out to have two entrances, one from his bedroom and the other from his living room. He was just about to call Cordy and ask where Jeanne was, when she rose above the edge of the balcony, sitting primly side-saddle on one of the two Firebolts she had bought in Diagon Alley. 

“Well don’t just sit there. Get ready for a morning of putting these beauties through their paces.” she told him with a grin, as Cordy appeared with the other broom, leaning it against the balcony wall before clearing his breakfast.

Harry needed no urging, and was dressed and in the saddle in record time. The rest of that morning was spent in the purest joy he could remember, as the wind whipped through his hair and Jeanne challenged him to races through the forest, duck dodging and weaving the trees, bushes and clearly added obstacles as the followed little glowing orbs that laid out the route for them. The estate was in a highly warded bubble of wizard space, leaving acres of woodlands and pastures free to roam unworried about muggle interlopers. There was a limit of course. When one got too close to the edge of the wards dome, the inside of it began to ripple with rainbow light to remind you, leading to Harry deliberately going up as high as possible just to enjoy the view of this majestic landscape under a rippling rainbow dome. Knowing that this taste of freedom was something he needed (not to mention deeply enjoying the view herself) Jeanne encouraged him to explore and push the limits around him. 

They returned to the castle for lunch, windswept, flushed, and laughing. After lunch on the veranda, Harry asked to be excused so he could write to Ron and Hermione, now that he had the time and wasn’t so confused about everything. With a smile, Jeanne waved him away, fully intending to get some letters of her own written.

Back in his apartment, Harry smiled as Hedwig fluttered down to land on the balcony wall, clacking her beak at him imperiously.  
“Always one step ahead of me, aren’t you girl?” He said fondly, stroking her downy feathers. Alright, I’ll need to write them, but there’ll be one for Ron which you’ll have to leave at the Leaky Cauldron, or drop off with Errol at the Burrow since he’s in Egypt right now, and there’ll be one for Hermione. Come to think of it, she should be somewhere her in France at the moment, so I’ll write hers first and you can take that one and bring her reply back. Ron’s can wait a bit.”  
Opening her eyes briefly, Hedwig gave an acknowledging “preck” before going back to enjoying the attention she was getting. The owlery here was very comfortable, and the house elves made sure she and the other resident birds were very well cared for, but she still needed the fussing from her hatchling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Hi Hermione._  
_First, I need to say thank you for the birthday present. I mean, just, wow, Hermione. I was expecting it to be some sort of book from how heavy it was, but a Broomstick Servicing Kit is just fantastic. Thank you!_  
_I did get into a bit of trouble from the Dursleys over Ron’s phone call, but nothing much over what they’ve done to me before. But that’s not going to matter anymore either! I have so much to tell you, and it’s so amazing I barely even know where to start._

_I guess I should just go with the ‘band-aid’ method of breaking the news: I’ve got a new magical guardian, who’s related to my mother! She’s taken me away from the Dursleys to her own estates and it’s absolutely gorgeous here. I’ve got everything I could ever have wanted in a home, and more, and this morning she took me flying through our woodlands on the newest broomstick model out there, the Firebolt. It’s all really brilliant, but it does have a downside. She listened when I told her about our adventures at Hogwarts so far, and immediately decided that I wasn’t going back to a place that is, in her words “completely unfit to care for and protect its students.” So I’m being transferred to Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, here in France.  
Oh yeah, I should mention she’s French too, and a really old friend of Nicholas Flamel. And I mean way older than Dumbledore levels of old. You could probably look her up in the muggle history books, she said she was a well known figure in her birth era. They called her the Lioness of Brittany, I think it was. Apparently, she had a magical descendant line from her last husband, that resulted in mum, and me. She found me in Diagon Alley after I ran away from the Dursleys after blowing up Aunt Marge (long story, she’s a horrible whale of a woman and I am not in the least bit sorry.) and recognised the eyes. You know how everyone always says I have mums eyes? Well that’s because they’re a hereditary thing in the magic having members of our bloodline. We went to Gringotts and got the bloodline-checks done to prove it and everything. _

_I know I’m going to miss you and Ron and Hogwarts, but I’m not going to be gone for good. She says you’re both more than welcome to come and visit me here, if you want to, though you would have to go through the standard security checks anyone being allowed into the wards goes through. You’d love it here, Hermione. Its beautiful, and I swear I saw a library bigger than the one at Hogwarts at one point, though I haven’t gone into it yet. Jeanne says that after Madame Maxime (that’s the Headmistress at Beauxbatons) finished testing me, it’s obvious I’m behind, so I’m probably going to be in that library a lot over the next few weeks, as she tries to catch me up a bit._

_Anyway, Hedwig is now glaring at me impatiently, and I need to start working out how I’m gonna tell Ron about this, so I’ll stop here for now.  
Send your reply back with Hedwig, she’ll happily wait around for it._

_All the best,  
Harry_

In a certain amount of shock, Hermione looked up from the unexpected letter from Harry to catch Hedwigs gaze. 

“I… He… is it true? He’s really in a new home?”

Hedwig ruffled her feathers and nodded. 

“Is… is he happy there? I mean, actually happy and not just pretending because it’s better than where he was?”

An imperious “preck” and another nod from the owl.

“Well. I guess I can only be happy for him, really. Though I’m really going to miss having him around. He’s one of my best friends!” One of her only friends, she thought sadly. “Wait. He said this Jeanne woman is Nicholas Flamel levels of old… Oh! Where did I put those History of the French Magicians books!”

Eventually, of course, it wasn’t in the magical history books that she found mention of a Lioness of Brittany. It was in a small and battered muggle book that she had picked up from a second hand store in one of the villages they had visited. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Harry!_

_Oh, I’m so happy for you! You’ve got a new home and a new life and I know it’s going to be good for you. I’m really going to miss you too, though._

_Oh, but your new guardian! You’re really living with the Lioness of Brittany?! Harry, Jeanne de Clisson is an amazing historical figure! She was a pirate of the British Channel, in the 1300’s, back when England and France were fighting over the French crown (again). Her husband at the time was arrested by the French side under suspicion of treason, and executed with no real proof. She’s recorded as having called the execution a “cowardly murder”, and took her two sons with her to see his head where it was put above the gates of Nantes, a city the Clisson family had a manor house at.  
Well, after that trip, she swore revenge and is said to have sold of the de Clisson estates… so I’m not really sure where you’re living at the moment. Maybe she sold the side estates of something? But anyway. She used the money to raise a bunch of troops, allied with the English, and started attacking castles. After that, she outfitted three warships that she had painted black with red sails, and spent thirteen years being a pirate against the French in the English Channel! She always left a few witnesses alive from any of her attacks though. _

_Harry. Your new guardian is a 12th Century, pre-secrecy, Pirate Queen! That’s amazing! And she must be an alchemist as well, to have been such old friends with Nicholas Flamel._  
_I would absolutely love to come and see your estates, and I have so many questions for her. My parents and I are in France for another week, and we’re due to visit Brittany for the last four days of it, if that’s a good time for you?  
Oh, I could learn so much more to put into my History of Magic Essay! I know it’s already two rolls of parchment longer than Binns asked for, but I can’t just leave out what could be the greatest source of knowledge possible for the subject._

_Write back as soon as you can,_  
_Love from  
Hermione._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Dear Hermione,_

_Wow, you learned a lot more about her than I did! Though in all fairness, she did promise to tell me the full story when we had the time, and was more interested in getting me all set for the school year than in throwing more information at me.  
Apparently, the side estates were sold, but not for the reason that’s recorded, and she just moved Castel Clisson and its environs into Wizard space and surrounded it with wards that made everyone sort of forget that area was even there. So now the muggles all know there was a castle, but just assume it got sold and let it vanish into history. I guess the ship colours kind of explain the predominant colour scheme around here. She made quite a few changes over the years, and almost everything is in red with black edging. Its really cool, but a bit overwhelming visually at times. _

_Jeanne says you’re welcome to come visit at any point in those four days, but if you want to learn the real truth of her life - I can tell you now she never touched the Philosophers Stone, just helped the Flamels research it - you’d need to be here tomorrow. That necklace enclosed is a temporary portkey that would bring you to the Gatehouse here, if you’re willing and your parents agree to let you come._  
_Just hold it and say “The House Robots close in.” at 7am. Yeah. It’s a weird phrase. Apparently, she has some scrying pool spell screen thing that she uses to pirate muggle tv, and managed to get hooked on this show called Robot Wars. It really confuses me, because apparently that isn’t even a show yet. She just waved it off and said something weird about time being this “ball of wibbley-wobbley, timey-wimey… stuff” and how scrying the future is a delicate art that has best use in its entertainment value.  
Honestly, I think she’s a little cracked in some ways. Extremely protective of me, and convinced that only the best of anything will do. But a bit cracked. _

_Hope to see you tomorrow, apparently we’re getting the real epic of her life, and meeting some people she’s only ever called the Gallizenae. They have something to do with Fate and prophecy reading, I think.  
Promises to be interesting._

_Harry._

Hermione folded the latest letter with a slightly shaking hand. The small gold lion necklace that had slid out of the envelope when she opened it winking at her in the light of the setting sun. She had a very real chance to learn a hidden history of a deeply reclusive immortal being, and quite possibly even more besides… and with her attempt at taking twelve OWLS meaning she was also taking Divination… Whoever these Gallizenae were, she had no doubt that if they were involved in prophecy reading and associates of the Lioness, she would learn a very great deal about a subject that she already had a feeling would be a difficult one for her highly rational and ordered brain to understand.

Purposefully, she moved to the stairs to find her parents. This was an opportunity she absolutely could not miss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At 7am the next morning, Harry and Jeanne stood in the Gatehouse arrival room, both dressed in matching formal robes with the House de Clisson crest upon them. Harry also wore his Heir-Confirmed Lordship rings, and the tunic and trous under the Clisson robes were in the red and blue of House Potter, with the motto of his father’s branch of House Peverell worked into the embroidered trim: “The last friend to be welcomed is Death.”

Right on time, a small chime pinged, and Hermione landed gracelessly on the carpet with a thump. To her credit, Harry thought slightly disappointed, she looked an awful lot better than he had after his first portkey travel. 

“Hermione! Welcome to Castel Clisson.” He said happily, helping her to her feet and providing a shoulder to lean on as she recovered. 

Pulling herself back together, Hermione took a couple more breaths and stood straight, trying not to look all around in fascination.  
“Harry! It’s so good to see you again! And look at you, you look so well! And far better dressed than me… I knew I should have dug out that church dress my parents packed…” she began fussing slightly with the hem of her perfectly nice but not particularly formal summer dress nervously, until an amused chuckle from behind made her jump slightly.  
“Oh! I’m so sorry, what must you think of me! You must be Lady de Clisson. I’m Hermione Granger, it is such an honour to meet you. I have so many questions about the alchemical arts! And the histories! Oh, you must know so many fascinating things that didn’t make it to the books.”

She was cut off slightly by a Jeanne who was trying very hard not to laugh at the eager young knowledge seeker in front of her. Harry had warned her about Hermione’ tendency to dive straight to the questions, but it was still a bit disconcerting - and very amusing - to encounter. This girl would get along very well with Tyronoe. 

“It’s quite all right, youngling. Yes, I am indeed Lady de Clisson, but please just call me Jeanne. I’ll be happy to give you some guidance with your studies, but not everything I could tell you is necessarily wise for you to learn, so I won’t promise to answer every question. As for your outfit, I can easily sort that for you if you wish. Thats a lovely dress, and you’re not required to be formally attired, that’s simply part of the social etiquette for Noble families and their Lords that I’m teaching Harry. We do have a large wardrobe of spare robes and costumes attached to the small theater I had added in the Renaissance, and I’m sure there will be something that suits you well for this trip.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you my La- er, Jeanne.”

“You’re very welcome, dear. I have far more than I could ever need, and never did develop the ability to just throw things away. Since I also learned some excellent preservation spells quite early on, it’s all rather built up over the centuries. Perenelle used to twit me about it often.” she smiled fondly at the memory. “First, I’ll just need you to stand in the circle here, please, for the security checks. Nothing to worry about, just a scan for any signs of outside influences or disguises, and a basic intent ward is all.”

“Oh, of course. This circle here?”

“Yes, just hold still a moment, and don’t mind the humming noise or coloured rings. I like to make my scans visible, mostly for the aesthetic of the thing.”

The relevant scans done, complete with red and black humming rings moving up and down around Hermione’s body from the ritual circle she stood in, a soft gold streaked red glow appeared and sank in to her skin, before an incongruous little chime sounded from nowhere. 

“There, all done You’re now keyed to the wards, and can use the portkey to reach this space any time you may need to. You’ll still need to be greeted and welcomed by an established resident to get beyond the threshold of course. Anyone attempting to do so while disguised as you will find themselves unconscious in the dungeons, and anyone who sends you in under compulsions, influence potions, or Imperious curses will get a nasty headache, while you get a full magical cleanse and sent to quarantine.”

“Wow. Your security is really detailed. Can you teach me some of those spells?”

“Of course. But not this time. Come along, I’ll show you both the theater and you can pick a dress or formal robe from the costume department.”

With that, the two women headed for the main castle, Hermione exclaiming over the various enchantments as they went. Harry trailed along behind, laughing silently to himself. It was just typical of Hermione to get so quickly distracted by new spells and knowledge.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later, with Hermione now decked out in a beautiful deep blue dress robe trimmed in silver, with her hair pulled back and twisted into a complicated baiding system that utilised a flowery metal hairpiece to hold it all in place (and getting a lot of sass from Harry about looking like a Ravenclaw), Jeanne took the two of them down to the basement levels of the castle, where a large shimmering pool of silver liquid sat in an ornately knot-worked golden bowl. 

“Today, we go to see the Gallizenae. But one never simply approaches their home without first calling to them. It’s incredibly dangerous to your continued survival chances to do otherwise. Stay one step behind me to either side, and only answer if spoken to directly.”

With nervous gulps, the two children nodded, and took the indicated positions, Harry to the left, and Hermione to the right.

Satisfied, Jeanne nodded to herself. Raising both hands in the traditional opening ritual pose, she began to chant in a language older than the hills. As she did so, the silvery liquid began to bubble and swirl, forming currents and eddies, waves and troughs, in time with her chant.


	6. The Gallizenae

### Chapter Six: The Gallizenae

  
  


A large golden bowl of silvery liquid, Harry thought to himself through the hypnotic effects of the ritual going on in front of him, really should not be able to completely surround you with weaving ribbons of light that seemed to fade through every single colour on the spectrum, and more beyond. It was just odd. Odder, however, was the shape of the island that was forming in three dimensional layers from the liquid as Jeanne’s chanting continued, dipping and rising in a sing-song pattern that spoke to some primal sense at the back of the mind. 

The island was low lying for the main, with a near even split of ground being shale and stone beaches or high grassy areas. It was long, and thin, curving in several places and leaving a general impression that somehow, the island was only a thin sliver from the edge of a larger landmass, broken off and cast to one side as one would a sliver of orange peel. It had a large port area, and a lighthouse on the opposite end, with a road that almost seemed to take up over half of the available grassy area running between the two.  
Surrounding it, smaller islands began to pop up, and somehow, the liquid resembling sea around them managed to become translucent enough to show extensive reefs and underwater rocks covering a huge area all around. Every island big enough to hold one looked to have a lighthouse on it. 

As he watched, entranced, through the glimmering rainbow light ribbons that were wrapping ever closer around both Jeanne and the two children, the view seemed to shift. Where the densest section of reefs sat, just on the edge of the main island, he began to see the shape of another island come into view. It was round, near perfectly so, with one thin thread connecting it to the tip of its neighbor. It was also tall, rising out of the sea higher than any other isle in the area, and looking closer, Harry could see that the base of this tower was riddle with arches and sea caves that produced - from the looks of the movements in the sea-liquid - extremely varied and probably highly dangerous currents that swirled throughout the entire reef system. On the top, there were fields and orchards, and in the center stood a large circle of standing stones, surrounding a nine-towered castle. Looking closer again, helped along by the fact that the bowl view was moving closer in on this isle, the castle was, in fact, made entirely of those nine conical towers, which were placed around and completely enclosed a central courtyard in which grew a single giant tree whose canopy was as high as the towers themselves, and completely blocked any sight of what lay beneath. 

When the ring of standing stones - 27 in total - and the castle they surrounded were all that stood within the view of the bowl, Jeanne’s chanting changed, became a friendly call and respectful acknowledgement, before the ribbons of light shot through all three of them and into the tree canopy at the center, leaving it glowing in multicoloured hues. The chanting stopped, and Jeanne lowered her arms slowly, eyes glowing in the same colours as the canopy. Looking at the awestruck face of Hermione, Harry saw that her eyes were also glowing, and suspected that his own were doing the same. Rubbing his chest absently, he realised he felt a lot warmer than he had when first entering this chamber, and that the formerly grand but dark and plainly coloured walls now looked to have moving sparks of multi-hued lights running through them.

The silence was broken when Jeanne turned to look at the two of them, and grinned.  
“So. While we’re waiting for them to pick up the call and pull out of watching the weave enough to answer, I should tell you my real story. They feature quite heavily in it.”

Eagerly, Harry and Hermione nodded, and sat on the now warm and comfortable stone floor to listen.  
From Jeanne’s hand came a small bubble, showing a castle that bore the faintest of recognisable resemblances to the one above them; just enough to be clear they were the same place. As she spoke, the image played out the story in front of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It began in 1342, during the Breton War of Succession. One thing you need to be clear on from the start is that in those days, France as the country you know today did not exist. It was still ruled as individual duchies, many allied under the crown of Paris - and the nation of France as it was then - by ties of marriage and politics.  
The kings were still fighting the dukes for land and power, and the English throne was right in the middle of it, as the Plantagenet line was descended of Eleanor of Aquitaine and Henry Plantagenet, son of the Count of Anjou and grandson of the English King, who then went on to inherit the English throne. As the Plantagenet line was descended of two powerful French noble lines, and still held the vast lands of Aquitaine at the time, they held a claim to the French throne when it became vacant in 1328. The Hundred Years War began in 1337, and was the result of the clashes between the House of Valois and the House of Plantagenet over the throne of France.  
In the midst of the early years of this century long conflict, the Ducal Crown of Brittany fell vacant. And that was a clear concern for my husband, Olivier de Clisson, as we were, of course, members of the Breton nobility. In their own struggle for supporters in their war, both the English and the French thrones sought to decide on the new Duke of Brittany in their favour, knowing it would bring alliance with it. Olivier chose to side with the French choice, but his younger brother supported the English. 

The year my story truly began is the year that the English - after four attempts - finally captured Vannes, defeating my husband who was leading its defence. He was captured, and later ransomed back in exchange for the Earl of Stafford, a prisoner of the French, and a smaller than expected amount of money. I was delighted at first, of course. I had my husband back, my young son would not have to try and win his due rule from the grasp of his uncle, and my children would not have to grow up without their father.  
But it was not to be.  
It was decided by Charles du Bois - the very man we had supported - that this low ransom was proof that Olivier had let the English win Vannes! That he was a traitor!  
I still don’t know, to this day, how exactly they did it, but during a time of Truce in 1343, Olivier was arrested while at a tournament on French soil, and tried for treason… they never made public demonstration of his guilt. Just declared it. He was beheaded, and his body exposed on the walls of Nantes like a common criminal!

(here Jeanne had to take a moment to collect herself, still bitter and angry about the injustice done to her husband)

When word reached me, I couldn’t believe it at first. I sought to prove it to myself, and to my sons, and we went to Nantes, to see it with our own eyes. And that day, I swore vengeance, at whatever cost.  
As is recorded in the history books, I sold the side estates. But I did not sell the main castle above us. I would not deny my children a safe haven to shelter from the political storm that was brewing. 

But I had a plan. And a reason for selling up. The money I gained from those sales was used to stock the castle and supply the guards, yes. But it was also used to pay for passage to the one place I would have the greatest chance of true vengeance. A small island off the coast of Brittany called the Iles de Sain. It was a region known for its dangerous currents and treacherous reefs. A haven for wreckers and smugglers alike. But there was also something else there. 

This was the era before the Wizarding World went into hiding. Several centuries pre secrecy, in fact, and it was a well known fact that the Iles de Sein was home to nine powerful and mysterious witches, who had the power to call up storms, change the currents of the sea, and shift into any form they wished. Darker rumours said that they also gave out prophecies that they used to shape the world as they saw fit, taking the free will of man and bending it to their whims.  
It was these women I went to seek out. I had no inkling of what price they might demand, or even if they would choose to aid me at all. But still I went. And on that island, at the very tip of a thin peninsula, I found a circle of nine standing stones surrounding an altar on which was carved a great tree. There, I called to them. I prayed, I wept, and I shared with the winds and tides the tale of my loss, and my need for vengeance. 

I was there for nine days before I received an answer. 

The tree on the altar began to glow, just as the canopy of the image in the bowl does now, and from that glow formed the image of a woman, willowy and robed in red, with her face hidden in the deep cowl of her attire. Behind her, in the same formation as we stood for the ritual, were two others in identical robes, save that each was trimmed in a different colour: black on the first, gold on the second, and blue on the third. When they spoke, it was as one, three voices in perfect harmony. And I knew their names without ever knowing how I knew.

They spoke to me of truths long lost. Of times yet to come. And of three paths that lay before me that day:  
On the first path, spake the Lady Gilton, Guardian of the Gentle Hearted, lay the path of womans place. A retirement and acceptance of the lot dealt to me by fate and mans distrust, with children who reached adulthood for certain, but who possessed no power of their own, reliant upon the grace of their uncle as I lived my years in a nunnery.  
On the second path, spake the Lady Giltonea, Guardian of the Lone-forged Paths, I rejected the price their aid would cost me, and strove to take my vengeance alone. On that path, my lifespan was measured in months and she would not speak of the fates it would bring my children.  
On the third path, spake the Lady Gilten, Guardian of the Predestined Weave, I gained the vengeance I sought. They would empower me to take it, and teach me all I would need to know. But the cost was one of home. Of family. And of free will. The price for their aid would be that I would never know the peace of death, and I would return their aid in my own path by giving the aid and guidance as they commanded to others on their paths, all throughout the long and lonely years. 

My choice was clear, and I held no hesitations as I took the offered hand that would bind me irrevocably to the third path. 

I will not lie to you. It hurt beyond anything I could ever have imagined, this binding of my body and soul to the weave. I saw… heard… even felt… everything that had ever been, and everything that could ever be… all at once. It was. Well. Overwhelming.  
I blacked out under the pressure, and woke in agony as the very blood in my veins felt afire, carving new paths and channels through my body, and forcing space for a magical core I was never meant by nature to have. 

And then it was done. I was alive, and could never die. I was a witch with no knowledge of how to use my magic. And the three Guardians of Fates threads stood before me in truth, beneath the canopy of a great ash tree far larger than any other in existence.

It was there, in the heart of their power, upon the isle they had long since brought into the small pockets of unseen dimensions that we know as Wizard Space, that I learned the truth of the women called the Gallizenae.

They are - much as I am - timeless, undying, and apart from the world. They are the Priestesses of Fate, and it is their unending task to watch, guide, and occasionally shepherd those who Fate Chooses along the paths it lay down for them. They are also bound to their isle, unable to ever leave save at very specific times under very specific circumstances. They conduct their tasks from their towers, watching the weaves of their individual responsibilities, and observing the tapestries of Fate as the threads are woven together. They can, when needed, spread their magics through a thread, and “nudge” the surroundings of a situation related to a Chosens path. But only if it is needed to prevent an unexpected variable raised by free-will from causing a snarl in the thread.  
Most often, this takes the form of suggestions planted in a mind; a drunkard leaving the bar a minute later than they would have, avoiding a confrontation that would have led to a premature death; a distracting call to one who is on the verge of solving a problem before it has done what was intended; a simple decision to stand one step further to the left than they would have, never knowing it saved their life. 

But other times, the snarl is too great to fix by such subtle means, and that is where I come in. Why they placed so heavy a price upon me, and why they agreed to aid me - the first such agreement in many a long century - in the first place. As they are the Watchers and Guardians, I am their Hand. When a Chosen needs protection to ensure they survive to try the challenge Fate has laid, I am there. When an assassination is needed to prevent a change in leadership or culture that would ruin the weaves pattern, I am sent. When a Chosen or a prime influence upon their life has lost the way, I am sent to guide them back.

But my true duties did not begin until after I had lived out the natural lifespan originally allotted to me. In the meantime, I learned to see, feel, and read the threads as they flowed around me from the Guardians, and learned the way of the blade from Gilten herself.  
When the three Guardians had taught me what I needed from them, they brought me to their sisters, to learn of political maneuvers and tactical warfare from the three blue-robed Seekers of Knowledge; Tyronoe, who Questions, taught me to seek and see every angle of a problem and be creative in my solutions; Thiten, who Studies, taught me to observe and understand the world and people around me, to get inside an opponent's head and use it against them; and Thiton, who Teaches, taught me how to persuade and manipulate, to take the knowledge I possessed and spread it in ways both subtle and obvious, to my own ends.

When I was declared not a disappointment upon the efforts of the Seekers, I was brought to the final three sisters of the Nine: the Watchers. From Moronoe Fatua I learned of the elemental magics and gained a deep understanding of the way the forces of nature - both magical and mundane - interacted. From Mazoe Fenta I found harmony with the animals and magical creatures of the world, learning their tongues and hearing their needs. It is Mazoe who found and nurtured the magical ember that birthed the first Phoenix, and it is she who they all ultimately serve.  
Finally, the last and greatest of the Nine saw to it that I learned all the Healing Arts that she could teach a soul so dedicated to violence. For the Lady Morgan has no peer in the skills and arts of Healing - yes, Hermione. It is indeed she who Wizardkind unfairly remembers as the much maligned Morgana le Fay of whom I speak.  
It was Lady Morgan, High Priestess of the Gallizenae, to whom Merlin brought Arthur for healing from a mortal blow dealt by his own son upon the battlefield. And it was she to whom Merlin turned for advice when he himself was unsure of the way, for Arthur was one of Fates Chosen, and Merlin had chosen to be his guide. Ultimately, of course, somewhere along the way Arthur made the wrong choices on his path, and failed to secure victory in the final test for which Fate had Chosen him. He failed, and in the end he died for his failure, leaving legends and myths in his wake, but with the tangible results of his life fading away and passing out of mankind’s true knowledge after he died. Camelot fell and became as though it had never been, and the Golden Era of which he dreamed never saw true life.

Those are the Gallizenae: Morgan, Moronoe, Mazoe of the Watchers, Gilten, Giltonea, Gilton of the Guardians, and Thiten, Tyronoe, Thiton of the Seekers. 

Once I had learned all that they saw fit to teach me in that timeless courtyard at the very center of the Isle of Avalon, they returned me to the mortal world. Back to the circle of stones in which I had prayed, and upon the altar was left all I would need to run my campaign of Vengeance.

I used my new knowledge and skills, along with the gold left me, to raise up an army and besieged two of the castles of Brittany that were in French control, destroying the garrisons within. But it was far from enough.  
I took to the seas, with three black war galleys under red sails. I made a pact with the English crown, and spent the next thirteen years upon my flagship, named “My Revenge”, hunting any ship that flew the French flag. I always left a witness, but otherwise wiped out everyone on board. It was this, my Black Fleet piracy, that earned me the title of Lioness of Brittany, and my sons were with me every step of the way, as were the winds and tides, for this command too I had partially learned from Moronoe. I even took part in battle, early in my piracy, supplying the English forces for the Battle of Crecy in 1346. 

But all pirates meet an end. For me, it came with the sinking of my flagship, leaving myself and my sons adrift for five days. I could not die myself, but I had not then the magical strength to save them both, and lost my Guillaume to exposure. Only the first of many such losses that I would face as the years rolled by and my children and grandchildren aged and died, while I continued.

We were rescued eventually, of course. And I strongly suspect the gentle hand of Gilton in the nudging of a captain whose ship sailed for the English claim off his course and into my path.  
Without my ships, and with a very definite sense from the threads about me that my vengeance was more than done, I was brought in 1352 before the altar by my final husband, Sir Walter Brentley, and settled in Hennebont while the weave of Fate arranged itself to account for my continued presence. While I was there, I fell pregnant one last time. A red-haired, green eyed, girl child who I named Johanna, the start of a new magical line which resulted in one Lily Evans, and her equally green-eyed son, Harry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Jeanne finished, she looked with deep pride and great love upon her ward, smiling softly. The bubble that had been playing her memories of the story as she told it faded away, and Harry and Hermione sat in dazed awe as they processed what they had just learned. Hermione in particular would very clearly have a million and one questions when she recovered. 

From the basin behind her, Jeanne heard a very familiar voice speak.

“Well. It has been quite some time since last you spoke of those days, young Jeanne. Your presentation has improved immensely. “

Rising gracefully, Jeanne turned smiling to greet the projected image of her mentor.  
“My Lady Gilten, I thank you. It has been too long since last I saw you.”

“It has been a busy few decades, my dear. The weaves for your young Wards path and ultimate challenge grow ever more complex as his alternate makes his own moves and while the pawns still think they serve only themselves. But I can brief you on those matters in so far as your current responsibilities allow to prevent clash at a later point. You have a formal presentation to make.”

“Indeed I do, my Lady.” Beckoning the children forward, she placed a hand on Harrys shoulder. “My Lady Gilten, Guardian of the Predestined Weave, I bring before you one who bears the mark of Fates Choice. As Hand of Fate, as Ancestral Progenitor, as Guardian and Guide, I present to you Harry James Potter, Heir-Confirmed of Houses Potter, Black, Lestrange and Slytherin, descendant of my bloodline, and of Deaths favoured line of Peverell.”  
Gently but firmly, Harry felt her push him into a bow. He straightened back up to find himself eye to eye with the projection of the Lady Gilten.

“Well met, young Clisson-Peverell. Thy weave is long and complex, and I see great struggle ahead of you. But as a Chosen of Fate, I and my sisters do formally extend our hands in greeting and offer our aid in your preparations. We cannot tell you exactly what you face, for that would be to twist the threads of the Chosens Choices askew, but if you have a specific need you seek our aid for, you have but to ask and we shall provide.”

Remembering his manners, Harry bowed - rather more gracefully this time - again.  
“I thank you, Lady Gilten, and would be most grateful for the aid of the Nine in my adjustments to this new life.”

Smiling, Gilten nodded, and looked to Jeanne once more, who nodded back and introduced Hermione as a child of knowledges search, and Second of the Chosens triumvirate. 

“Welcome, Knowledge Seeker. You are most welcome to my sight, and a much anticipated guest of my sister Tyronoe. Jeanne, you seek to bring them through to the timeless shade of the tree this day?”

“I do indeed, my Lady.”

“Then by all means, do so now.”

The basin flared, Giltens image vanished, and the room around the three flashed in a near blinding burst of pure white light. When the children blinked the spots from their eyes, they found themselves beside a pond of deepest blue, exactly the same shape and size as the basin. Before them lay a large courtyard, almost all of which was filled with the trunk of a giant ash tree that was near fifty metres across, and taller than their eyes seemed able to truly process. Before them stood three identical women in differently trimmed but otherwise identical red robes. 

Gilten, Giltonea, and Gilton bowed in unison and spoke as one.  
“Welcome, children of destinys web. Welcome to the Blessed Isle. Welcome to Avalon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I hope you're enjoying this so far, I promise it makes sense in my head. 
> 
> I'm away in a field next weekend, and at work during the week, so there'll probably be a delay on the next update, but I swear I'll try to get it up as soon as I can (and when my brain cooperates and lets me know whats even going on).
> 
> Jeanne de Clisson is an actual real person, and with the exception of the magical world insert tie-ins, she actually did all that stuff. Such a badass.  
> Similarly, the legend of the Gallizenae Priestesses of the Ilse de Sein is also a real thing. Its even speculated that they could be one of the influences for the origins of Avalon and Morgan le Fay, and I just could not let such a beautiful chance go to waste. So hey. Suddenly Avalon. Also, a fair mix of several ancient culture prophetic women of myth and related symbology.


	7. Avalon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops... bit of a longer delay than intended, there.  
> Sorry!
> 
> This is still entirely unbeta'd and highly stream-of-consciousnessy, so any corrections, thoughts, or suggestions much appreciated.
> 
> (Also, I'm going to need to populate Beauxbatons soon. If anyone wants to add a student, please feel free to suggest one and I'll see what I can do. Advance warning, the school is not going to have House sorting system the way Hogwarts does.)

### Chapter Seven: Avalon

  
  


_The game is in motion._  
_The players are set_.  
_The timer remarks the hours._

 _The Dog seeks the Rat,_  
_The Wolf mourns his pack,_  
_The Rat fears reveal of his powers._

 _The Pawns are in play,_  
_The Queen seek to check,_  
_But the Kings are not to be seen._

 _For the Fawn has left the board,_  
_The path that was laid has reset,_  
_Secrets unveiled, lie unseen._

_And only the Grim knows the truth._

  


Harry stared into the still, deep waters of the Pool in confusion. When the Lady Gilten had offered to speak the prime lines of his weave - not of the future, but the present - that he have some guidance on his path for the coming trials, he had expected something a little more… understandable. 

His face must have given away his thoughts, for as she awoke from the lightshow of a trance that had prompted the strange riddle, Gilten smiled at him. The boy had much promise, but he still had a great deal to learn in the subtler arts of social manipulations and reading the truths of what lay unsaid.

“You do not understand. I do not expect you to, for the weaves of this coming year - in your regard - speak much of people you have no conscious memory of ever meeting, and any reading of the weave cannot be aught but cryptic. It takes a great deal of inborn talent, and no small amount of learned skill, for a prophet or seer to catch and relay any future weaves line, and much is always hidden or obscured to allow for free-will and manifest destiny to choose the paths. I can See with little effort, but my position and role requires that I too follow the rules of the Oracular Gifts.”

“So. I’m basically left to try and work it out with no clues then?”

“In some respects. Though there are clear clues given, you simply have not yet encountered the circumstances needed to begin unravelling them.”

“Wonderful.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Avalon, it turned out, was essentially just a deeply intensive summer school. At least as far as Harry was concerned.  
From the moment they had arrived almost, he had been up to his ears in French verbs and nouns, societal etiquette for Lords, basic muggle subjects such as maths and science, ballroom dances - to his chagrin and Hermione’s delight- and remedial studies re-covering his previous two years of magical education (including History of Magic, and wasn’t _that_ just a joy to revisit. At least is wasn't Binns teaching this time.)

Hermione - being already fluent in French, up to date and advanced in all her subjects, and not a member of wizarding high society - got to avoid all of his lessons save the dancing which she joined voluntarily, and instead spent the majority of her time in the company of the Lady Seekers, primarily Tyronoe and Thiton, gleefully immersed in scrolls and practical studies of esoteric subjects that Harry could barely comprehend. Prophecy was a big part of her focus, though. That much he could tell, even if it was immediately too deep and convoluted a subject for him to follow along. 

Jeanne was most often closeted away in a far alcove of the courtyard, deep in conversation with the Ladies Thiton and Morgan. Many scrolls, heavy tomes, maps, and even what looked like complex family trees, were involved. Harry took one look at the deeply worrying looks of savage glee and superior smirks coming from that corner, and decided that he really, really, really didn’t want to know what they were planning for the Wizarding world.  
Because he may not _like_ putting his mind to actual work, but he was far from stupid.  
Jeanne was taking him out of the place that Wizarding Britain expected him to be in, and thoroughly shaking things up in the process. The political fallout was going to be spectacular, and she was busily planning her lines of attack with the aid of the Seeker who specialised in knowledge spreading and information manipulations, and Morgan le Fay herself.  
Harry very very definitely did _not_ want to know.

There was one other lesson that both he and Hermione had to take, however. Physical education. Harry found it excellent stress relief to do laps around the courtyard and learn how to punch things, dodge hexes, and wield a sword. Because as Jeanne pointed out, the enemy could have the most deadly spells in existence at their fingertips, but it would mean jack all if they couldn’t hit you.  
A lot of wizards had died over the years because they developed this strange idea that a fight had to be a duel, and that running around or dodging was unsporting.  
Jeanne and Lady Gilten both disagreed. A stronger body and constitution meant greater stamina, which meant a stronger and longer lasting magical core. And battle trained reflexes meant less wasting magical energy on shielding spells and more using it on attacks. Although the biggest lesson Jeanne in particular imparted on this topic was the following:

“Magicals, as a race, are stupid. They see non-magicals on a battlefield and assume they can’t be dangerous, because how could someone possibly be a threat to you without magic?  
That is bullshit.  
No shielding spell can deflect more than a couple of bullets before completely draining the magical core of the caster to maintain it. No caster can use a spell if their wand has encountered the sharp edge of a sword. No hominen revelio covers a distance wide enough to pick up a longbowman or sniper. And no magical save the very most paranoid is going to have shielding spells and protective charms up unless they think they are in immediate danger. This arrogance is your advantage. Use it. Never get bogged down in a straight up duel with another magical when you can instead use the terrain to hide and strike with. A well thrown rock will drain as much energy from a shield as a stunner will. And never underestimate the potential damage that can be done by a charm that has no immediately obvious combat use. Don’t let up on a tickling charm and you can very easily choke someone with it.”

And so their time on Avalon passed. 

But the time outside of the courtyard did not. For that was the thing about being at the literal epicentre of Fates weavings. Time had no meaning in the courtyard beneath the Tree. When they had arrived, the doors between the courtyard and the outside world were shut, and the passage of time could not enter. The visitors still needed to sleep and eat, for the physical energy requirements still occurred, but they did not age, and they had the time to learn all that they needed to. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How long they had spent in that timeless place, Harry could not say. He had long since lost track of the sleep cycles under that eternal golden glow reflecting down from the leaves of the Tree.  
He only knew that once he was finally fluent in French. When he had finally gained a suitable understanding of the standards and etiquette expected of him. When he was declared adequate in the area of combat and fitness. Then, Gilten had offered to give him insight into the threads surrounding and mixing with his own weave in the coming year. And he couldn’t understand a word of it.

So now here he sat, on the edge of the Pool beneath the Tree, watching the strange movements of colour beneath the still, serene surface. 

He was _not_ brooding.  
He was simply… contemplating things. In a stoic and manly fashion. That might happen to resemble brooding to the unobservant.

Yeah.

He hadn't expected Hermione to believe that for a moment either.

“So. Would you like a trained observers best try at interpretation, then?”

“I’m not bothered by it. It’s just a bunch of cryptic clues that make no sense. I don’t need to understand them.”

“Suuuure, Harry. You’re completely unbothered by it. That’s why you’re staring moodily into the depths of the Pool like it stole your last scoop of ice cream. Come on, you know I'm just going to badger you until you share, anyway. You may as well tell me now and save yourself all that time of moody brooding and unformed worry.”

Sighing, Harry looked at the stubbornly set face of his friend, and knew she was right. He was going to give in and tell her eventually. Might as well be now.

“Fine.So it starts with: _The game is in motion. The players are set. The timer remarks the hours_.”

“Okay” Hermione nodded, pen bouncing across the page as he spoke. “So that's a fairly standard setting of the scene. Obviously, with your life being how it is, and you being the subject of a major prophecy - whatever it says, since no one will tell us - the reference to a game is just the metaphorical layout of your current paths. Players being set will be the various people tied up in it, like you, me, Ron, and a bunch of others - probably including Dumbledore.”

“Right… well, then it goes on as: _The Dog seeks the Rat, The Wolf mourns his pack, The Rat fears reveal of his powers._ ”

“Hmmm. Trickier. Obviously, those are key people in this reading. Dog, Wolf, and Rat would be the designations of their easiest to read traits in the weave. The Rat fears reveal, so they’re probably someone in hiding or keeping a low profile. Especially since the Dog is quite single mindedly hunting them for that to be the only listed connection. The Wolf… I have no idea where they fit in, but if they’re mourning their pack, they've definitely lost several people close to them. These are all people linked to you somehow, so… maybe an old friend of your parents? Hard to say.”

“Okay. Yeah, you’re good at this. I hadn't even thought of that. It’d make sense though, since Lady Gilten said these were people I had no _conscious_ memory of meeting.”

“Indicating that you _have_ met them before, but not in a very long time. Knowing the Dursleys allergy to anything magical, it’d have to have been before you went to them. Next?”

“ _The Pawns are in play, The Queen seeks to check, But the Kings are not to be seen_.”

“Right. It’s a chess game metaphor then. The Queens would be referring to the main decision makers and-or whoever arranges the biggest moves on either side. I'm going to assume ours would be Dumbledore, since you’re clearly the King of our side. Being the important piece whose loss ends the game and all.”

“That… makes a lot of sense. So, Voldemort would be the King on the other side.”

“Almost certainly. He is currently a wraith somewhere, alone and hidden. You are being thoroughly removed from Hogwarts and Wizarding Britain, which we know would be where all of the pieces are set. Both Kings are nowhere to be seen on the board, which makes the Queens attempts to hit Check impossible. Huh. Odd that it only mentions one Queen, singular. I would have thought the other would be Black.”

“That escaped prisoner? Why him?”

“Well, he’s said to have been You-Know-Who’s right hand man, isn't he? And everyone is probably convinced he’s either looking for his Master, or trying to kill you first. It’s only logical when you look at it from his perspective. But then he would have been a second Queen seeking to Check.”

“.... I'm just not gonna go there right now. I guess I can see what you mean, but I really don’t wanna think about it. So it continues with: _For the Fawn has left the board, The path that was laid has reset, Secrets unveiled, lie unseen._ ”

“Fair enough. But at the very least you are talking the Black situation over with Jeanne before you go to school. Anyway, the Fawn that has left the board has to be you, though I have _no_ idea why its chosen to call you a baby deer of all things. The path that was laid being reset only confirms its talking about you. That last lines a bit odd though. Secrets unveiled, so secrets that have been revealed, but they lie unseen. So… important secrets have been let slip in some manner, but no one has noticed them yet? Maybe? Is there any more?”

“One last line: _And only the Grim knows the truth_.”

“Well that’s not cheery at all. Or even remotely helpful.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Well, a Grim is one of the big omens in the various forms of Divination. Although the entire branch is highly limited for anyone not born with any talent for the Oracular Gifts. And its extremely woolly until full blown prophecy hits, at which point it just becomes disturbing and cryptic. But I'm getting distracted. A Grim is an omen of death. The big black dog of the graveyard.”

“A… A big, black, dog.... Death?”

“Ye-es. Harry… what have you not told me that you have only just now realised might have been important to mention?”

“Well… the night I ran away… I felt like I was being watched, right? So I went to look, and saw some big, black animal in the shadows, it startled me so much that I tripped over my trunk and accidentally summoned the Knight Bus almost onto my head.”

“And you think now it might have been a Grim-like big, black dog? Harry… a Grim only foreshadows death. They’re never a direct _cause_ of it. You probably just saw a stray or something.”

“Yeah… yeah, I guess you’re right. It just gave me a bit of a shock to find out, you know?”

“I can understand that, yes. But now we have unnoticed revealed secrets in direct correlation to you, and only the embodiment of an omen of death know the truth of it all. This is not a good line-up, Harry. You have to promise me, right here and now, that you will be really careful this year. I'm not going to be right next to you to pull you back or solve the mystery any more.”

“I know. I promise, Hermione. But you have to promise me you’ll be careful too. I might have been moved off the board, but the rest of the pieces haven’t been, and they’re all going to be focussed on Hogwarts… and my Knight and Bishop best friends.”

“You’re getting a little too invested in this metaphor Harry. But yes, I do see your point. I swear I’ll be careful. And once we get Ron up to speed, I’ll make him be careful too.”

“Thank you. I couldn't bear finding out you two got hurt because of me. Especially when I won’t even be able to be there and even try to stop it happening.” 

“You always did have a saving-people complex.” 

The two lapsed into silence, smiling slightly at each other before staring thoughtfully into the depths of the Pool until Jeanne came to fetch them for another training session some time later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jeanne stood by the door to Morgans Tower, the two children beside her, and the entire Gallizenae gathered to see them off. 

This had been a highly enjoyable escape from the pressures and long stretches of boredom found in the outside world, but it was time to return to linear time. The children were both trained as well as they needed to be for their age, with self-training regimes planned out for when they were at school. Harry was now fully fluent in French, as he would need to be to get by in Beauxbatons, and also fully caught up on his education to an acceptable standard. Hermione had learned much from the Seekers, especially in the realms of prophetic interpretations, and she and Harry were now both armed with a decent idea of what to watch for this coming year.  
And she herself, of course, had planned a great many things, with the gleefully willing aid of Morgan and Thiton, both of whom had missed having such a direct hand in the political machinations of the world. 

It had been a productive visit, and a very good time. 

Morgan stepped forward, with her sisters behind her, and held out two pouches to the children.

“You both have long and often perilous roads ahead of you. You have chosen to bind together on these paths, and so the dangers of one will often slide over to become the dangers of both. These pouches contain six draughts each of the distilled essence of the apples that grow upon the Tree. They will not cure death itself, but they will heal very nearly anything else. And should the injured party be so far gone that even this cannot cure them, it will invoke a stasis upon them, that you might bring them to me. Or seek the aid of a Flame of Mazoes tears. Whichever is most likely.  
They will not spoil, and they cannot be stolen from you. Use them wisely, for I will not grant you more.” 

Bowing gracefully, the two children took the pouches with all the care and reverence they could, thanking her profusely.

Gilten presented her favourite (and technically, only) star pupil with a set of basilisk skin armour, calling it an earned trophy and needed. Harry blushed, but managed a properly acceptable thanks. His lessons in etiquette had definitely sunk in.

Tyronoe, who Jeanne had correctly predicted would become very fond of hermione very quickly, presented _her_ favourite and only pupil with a book. A journal, in fact, that was connected directly to the weave of Harry’s paths. If Hermione was ever truly stuck in her questioning, she could ask the Weave her question, and receive either another question in return to guide her thoughts towards a new route of enquiry, or an answer - in cryptic oracle-speak, of course.  
Hermione practically vibrated with excitement as she clutched it to her chest tightly like she feared she might lose it, ignoring the fact that it had been enchanted to be unstealable, unreadable by any but her, and to always return to her.

Smiling, Jeanne quietly made plans to arrange some dragonhide armour for Hermione as a Christmas gift. The girl was almost certainly going to need it almost as much as Harry would need his own new armour. And some for that other friend of theirs too, assuming he passed the security checks. 

Each lost in their own thoughts and excitement over their gifts and the coming year, the children bade goodbye to the Gallizenae, and followed Jeanne into Morgans Tower, to the scrying bowl that connected with Castle Clisson, and the return of linear time.


	8. Tarnished Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It LIVES!  
> *lightning strike*  
> *mad cackling*
> 
> *cough* Erm... I mean... Sorry! This took rather a lot longer than intended to get done. Life kinda got in the way a lot, plus Ron was an absolute (censored) to write. 
> 
> Anyways. There is a chapter It continues the story. 
> 
> We finally reach Beauxbatons!
> 
> As always, constructive comments and criticisms welcome. Flames will be put in the fireplace to keep me warm.  
> Anyone who might want to throw in suggestions for Beauxbatons students is entirely welcome to do so. (Populating an entire school fed by four or five countries is haaaaarrrrdddd okay?)

Note: From this point on, unless otherwise stated, all speech and communication done at Beauxbatons or elsewhere in Europe, and between Harry and Hermione, is in French. Anything else, unless otherwise stated, is in English - especially at Hogwarts or elsewhere in Britain.

### Chapter Eight: Tarnished Gold 

Returning from Avalon involved a very simple process of stepping into a large gold scrying basin that was the twin of the one they had made contact from, and finding themselves spat out of said basin in the cavern below Castel Clisson. Harry and Hermione both found themselves sprawled on the floor in undignified heaps. Jeanne, of course, came out of the basin like a gymnast dismounting from a trampoline, and landed neatly on her feet. There was no effort to hide the smug look on her face, or the clear laughter in her voice, as she helped the two children to their feet.

“So. We’ve been gone in local time for about half an hour, you’ve just lived a timeless existence while two years worth of learning and revision was crammed into your skulls, and we have another six hours before Hermione has to portkey back to her parents. 

Broom racing, exploring the castle and grounds without the grown up looking over your shoulders, or occupying the viewing room cushion nest while I introduce you to muggle television that hasn’t been made yet?”

 

“Cushions!” came the eerily harmonised reply, as the two barely had to exchange so much as a glance to reach a silent agreement.

“Jelly-brained nesting it is, then. Come on, it’s this way.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Six hours of watching home-built robots beat each other up (and finally understanding the references in Jeanne’s portkey phrases) later, Hermione had headed back to her parents and Harry had gone to bed, realising as he did so that somehow, he was already thinking of this place as home, even more than Hogwarts had been. 

Drifting off, he smiled, perfectly content and happy with his life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

_Harry mate,  
Got your letter, but I’m not sure what you’re trying to pull. I mean, leaving Hogwarts? To go live with some French Pureblood you’ve never met before? Nice try, but I’m not that gullible. You’ve probably already got all your school stuff by now, since we’re going tomorrow, so I’ll see you on the train. We’re staying at the Leaky Cauldron over night, and Hermione is going to meet up here tomorrow. We arranged that weeks ago when Dad first won the draw and decided we’d go see Bill. _

_Anyway, Mums yelling at me about leaving stuff on the floor, Percy’s lost his Head Boy badge (and will drive you nuts talking about it), and Ginny’s having a fit about something, so I gotta go._  
_See you tomorrow mate,_  
_Ron._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Dear Harry,_  
_I know Beauxbatons starts a bit later than Hogwarts, so I suspect this letter will find you being berated by Cordy into not leaving your packing to the last minute. As I write this, it is just past curfew on the first day back. The welcoming feast was as wonderful as ever, and the first years are getting even smaller, I swear._  
_The new DA teacher is a rather shabby looking man called Professor Lupin. He looks a lot frailer than he is, though; the ministry have set Dementors around Hogwarts to try and catch Sirius Black when he tries to get in, and they decided to check the train. Harry… those things are horrible! It felt like I could never be happy again, like all the good things in the world were gone forever… but luckily for us, we were in the same compartment as Professor Lupin, and he managed to chase it off with a glowing white spell. He even gave us chocolate to help recover, and it worked! Madame Pomfrey muttered something about finally having a competent Defense teacher while she was checking us._  
_Professor Snape, however, absolutely hates him. You should have seen the way he looked at Professor Lupin during the introductions, it was worse even than when he looks at you._

_Oh, I found out why Care of Magical Creatures had that biting book as a set text. Hagrid is the new teacher for it! Isn’t that wonderful? I’m really looking forward to seeing how he does._

_I know we expected this year to be strange. It’s not right without you around - especially for me, after all that time together during my visit - and everyone was really confused about where you were. Ron couldn’t bring himself to believe it until the feast, when it was just too obvious that you hadn’t just been hiding somewhere on the train. Harry… he’s not taking it well. Write to him soon. Please. He’s already starting to think you never actually liked us, and that now you’re “off to some fancy snobs school” and have “some snobby pureblood noble” as a guardian, you’re going to forget about and start looking down at us. Malfoys snide remarks on the train about the Clisson power, and how you were finally going to learn to behave like a proper blooded Lord and Heir, and how his father was going to be writing to her soon to “re-establish relations” didn’t help.  
I’ve tried to tell him Jeanne is nothing like that, but now he won’t talk to me. He was already upset because I’ve got a cat now, and dear Crookshanks doesn’t seem to like scabbers, but I don’t see what his problem is. Cats and rats don’t tend to get along, so why is he surprised? And the poor dear had been in the shop for absolutely ages before I came along! _

_I’m looking forward to a long and busy year, with all my electives. I’ve got an absolutely packed schedule, though I suspect I might have to end up dropping Divination if the teacher doesn’t cover anything Lady Tyronoe hasn’t already taught me, and just doing self-study for the OWL.  
What electives have you taken for Beauxbatons? I know you were going to take Care of Magical Creatures and Divination here, but we never really discussed options while I was visiting, and I’m sure Jeanne and Lady Gilten had some pointed suggestions for you._

_Stay in touch, and write back soon, Harry._

_With love from  
Hermione_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Dear Hermione,_

_You do realise you need to eat and sleep as well as study, right? If you don’t take care of yourself during your ridiculously full schedule, I’m asking Cordy to send one of the younger elves over to make sure you do. Even if they have to hide all your books and put you to sleep with magic to do it. And they’ll do it with a smile. Seriously. There is a massive population of Clisson House Elves, and literally only two people and the estate itself for them to manage. Any one of the younger general staff elves would leap at the chance for what they consider a promotion._

_I’m glad to hear Hagrid has gotten a chance to do what he’s always loved, but keep an eye on him, would you? We both know how much he loves the more dangerous creatures, and he never seems to quite believe how vicious they actually are or can be. Remember Norbert? Or Aragog? And you just know Malfoy and the other Slytherins would love a chance to ruin everything for him._

_I’m sorry to hear about Ron, he never has been much good at logical thinking and tends to let emotions drive (Jeanne muttered something about pots and kettles when I mentioned that over dinner). I’ve tried writing back to him already, but he hasn’t replied, though it is early yet. I hope he’ll get over things once it sinks in a bit more. Malfoy is just being a prat. I ran into him at Diagon Alley with Jeanne, and she had some cutting remarks about his attitude. She later told me his family used to be vassals of hers before she signed a noble-house establishment release of fealty for them. Hilariously, it included a clause about never standing against her bloodline._

_As for Ron’s problem with crookshanks… well… yeah it’s not surprising that a cat has it in for a rat, especially if you spend much time together, but Hermione… Scabbers has been in Ron’s family for years, and he does love him, no matter how much he grumbles and complains. Any animal trying to kill his pet would get on Ron’s bad side, especially when it’s a new addition from one of his best friends. Maybe try keeping Crookshanks away from Scabbers as much as possible? And try to be a bit understanding of Ron’s anger at a threat to a furry member of his family?_

_As for my electives… Yeah. Yeah, Jeanne and Gilten had quite a few “suggestions” as to what might be a good “career boosting” choice that is absolutely just for future job choices and in no way something that would benefit my path choices and survival chances. Definitely._

_So obviously, I still have the usual Charms, Potions, Transfiguration, History of Magic, Herbology, and Defense, but I’m also taking Socio-Political Studies, along with Basic Warding & Anatomy of Curses. They don’t have separate teachers or lessons for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, because those are taught by the same person as an extra curricular. Apparently they’re too intertwined with Warding & Anatomy of Curses, as well as Wizarding Construction and Architecture - which is a NEWT elective. Beauxbatons takes a much more progressive and active approach to preparing us for future work. _

_The NEWT electives all come with the options for career specialisation alongside the core module, and the OWL electives all include the information and explanations for any cross-subject influences. For instance, any new latin introduced is fully detailed and explained as to why it is needed and what effects it has. Warding & Anatomy of Curses gives the solid grounding for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, but only goes into detail on the parts that actually affect the work and area of study, and how they connect together. _

_There are a lot of extra-curricular study groups and lectures for pure theory and further study of things like Runes, Arithmancy, and Latin, and the OWL is available to test for as a self-study. They’re also available as specialised modules in the NEWT electives._

_Basically, what I’m saying is you would absolutely love it.  
(Yeah, I’ve been reading the stack of explanatory books and leaflets Madame Maxime sent with my supplies list. And Jeanne has had a few lecture modes. Can you tell?)_

_That’s about all for now, I’m still doing my workout routine and hope you’re keeping up too. Hopefully we can get together over Christmas?_

_Lots of love,  
Harry_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Heir-Confirmed Harry Potter-Peverell began his journey to school for his third year of magical education, it was in quite a different manner than his previous two years.  
No gleaming red steam engine to an ancient castle in Scotland this time. No crowds of students in black robes who grew up on often exaggerated and imagined tales of his greatness. No best friends to share his seat and catch up with after a summer apart.

No. 

This time, he stood in a concealed clearing in a large and heavily warded and enchanted forested area near Clermont-Ferrand, in a gathering of students dressed in pale blue, fine silk robes, all patiently awaiting the arrival of a huge carriage drawn by giant winged horses. Being a new and obviously not first year face, and wearing the rings and circlet of his rank, he received a great many curious stares from the quietly chattering crowds, but none lingered on his scar. Already, he was happy to have left Hogwarts, but he couldn’t shake the small hole in his stomach as he felt the empty places by his side where Ron and Hermione used to be.

This was going to be a difficult term.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first glimpse of Beauxbatons Chateau came as the carriage crossed the tips of mountainous foothills into a hidden basin, only one and a half hours flight from the departure clearing. Harry, and all of the obvious first year students, were subtly or not so subtly pointed and edged towards the windows of the greatly expanded interior of the carriage by the upper years so that they could have their first sighting properly.

Much like Hogwarts, Beauxbatons stood on a high plateau overlooking grounds containing large swathes of grass, a forest that also ringed the basin, and a lake. But the resemblance ended there.  
Where the Forbidden Forest was dark and menacing, this one was bright and welcoming. The lake both sculpted and a beautiful shade of turquoise that seemed almost unnatural, with graceful white docks on the edge near the Chateau that held a couple of lovely, almost delicate looking yachts. The grass was no mere controlled meadow or field, but a vibrant and exquisitely managed formal garden, with hedges, fountains, and statues dotted around the manicured flower beds that were a rainbow of colour. 

The Chateau itself was a dusky rose shade with blue slate roofs, and looked like nothing so much as a fairytale castle straight out of Disney. 

Swooping down towards the Chateau, the carriage set down in a large, statue ringed courtyard outside the main doors, the hooves of the horses and wheels of the carriage raising sparks from the coloured-mosaic-cobblestones that depicted the school coat of arms as they landed and settled. Beside it, two other identical carriages that had flown in from other directions also came to a halt.

Two upper year students with a little crown above their robes school crest - Harry presumed prefects or head girl and boy - opened the two doors of the French carriage and let down the steps to allow the students out, where they all separated into what looked to be year groups, each group lining up by one of the statues of magical races that lined the edge of the courtyard nearest the graceful stairs to the Chateau doors. More students disembarked from the other two carriages and joined their year groups.

The new students - Harry included - huddled in the center, flanked by the two presumably-head students, as the carriages took off and disappeared around the back of the Chateau. 

When all were present, the arched crystal-wrought silver doors opened to reveal a trio of professors in formal robes. In front, stood a tall, aristocratic looking spaniard, his dark hair falling in carefully cultured waves, and his colourful robes in a style that Harry recognised from Jeanne’s basic politics lessons as being those native to the older families of Wizarding Basque. To his left was a short and fairly round witch with russet coloured hair, dressed in gentle leafy green velvet with flowered trim, and possessing a gaze both piercing and distracted. To his right there stood a taller witch in deep yellow robes with black detailing panels, cut in a style he would most associate with arthurian courts. She had a look of near perpetual geniality about her, and was clearly excited to see the students once more. Stepping out onto the wide platform atop the stairs, the three beamed out at the assembled students. 

“Welcome, one and all.” began the spaniard “Today marks the beginning of another year of learning and excellence. For many of you, it is a return to our lofty spires and hallowed halls of knowledge. For others, it is a first step upon your journey to becoming outstanding mages in any field that you care to focus your drive towards. I am the Deputy Headmaster, Signeur Abaroa, and to my left we have our first years Head of Year, Madame Segrisse, who teaches Divination and Astrology, while to my right stands Madame du Miel, our Charms professor and second years Head of Year. 

The two students bearing the emblem of the crown above their school crest are Mademoiselle Kerr and Monsieur Delacour, our Head Girl and Boy for this year. It is their duty to oversee the prefects and approve schedules and activities for any non-faculty run extra-curricular clubs and official study groups. Should you have any worries or need any help with your studies, and do not wish to ask your Head of Year, you may go to them, or to any prefect, denoted by the star above their school crest.

New students, please wait here with Madame Segrisse until the entryway is cleared. Third years and above, please make your way to your new accommodations. They will, as ever, be on your Year floor, but otherwise identical in location and form.

Second years, please follow Madame du Miel to your new accommodations, as they have have now been assigned by the results of your first year evaluations and familial social requirements.”

It is my absolute pleasure to welcome each and every one of you to Beauxbatons Academie of Magic.”

With that, Signeur Abaroa turned and led the upper years of students into the school. When all were through the doors, Madame du Miel beamed at the second years, practically bouncing on the spot as they began filing up the stairs, and swept dramatically in as they reached her. 

Up until this point, Madame Segrisse had been standing quietly to one side, seemingly contemplating the clouds that drifted overhead. Now, the first years and Harry found themselves suddenly fixed with a piercing gaze that seemed to see straight through to the hearts of them.  
Harry was suddenly and uncomfortably reminded of Professor McGonagall when she was looking at students who just might have been about to go and do something not entirely permitted. 

“Welcome, young ones, to the start of your journey to adulthood. As your Head of Year, I expect you all to be punctual, respectful, and studious in your endeavours this year. If you will follow me, I shall show you to your accommodations. For this first year, your sleeping quarters have been assigned by gender and alphabetical order.”

So saying, Madame Segrisse led the first years - and a rather confused Harry - through the main doors and into a sweeping entrance halle with grand staircase of intricately wrought and detailed gold bannisters. Walking past the steps, they soon discovered that at the back of the hall, tucked in an arched tunnel behind the grand staircase, there was a set of smaller double doors set with the school crest. Above the crest was a simple number 1. 

Opening the doors, Madame Segrisse ushered the children into a large circular common room, decorated in gentle blue and gold pastels on a soft cream base. The lighting came from glowing golden scones that lined the walls near the ceiling, which was lined with polished brass, reflecting the light back down in a golden glow. 

A large fireplace dominated the wall opposite the entrance doors, and was flanked by two smaller doors, one with a blue base and golden crest on the left, and the other on the right with a golden base and a blue crest. 

“Girls to the left, Boys to the right. Your assigned room will have your name on it, and there are three students to a room. You will find that no door to which you have not been granted access will allow you past, be it the main door to either corridor, or the doors to any of the dormitory rooms that you have not been assigned to. A temporary access is grantable by verbal invitation from one whose room it is, but no boy or girl may access so much as the corridor for the other gender. It is inapplicable to your own year group, but anyone who does not truly belong to either category is granted access to a third corridor with individual rooms.  
I will say now, and wish you to understand how very clear I am on the matter, that I do not care what prejudices or perceptions you may have been raised in. Neither I, nor any other member of staff, will tolerate any discrimination or bullying of any kind, and particularly not those centered around gender expression, blood status, or race.”

When the assembled students had all nodded solemnly, she dismissed them to settle in, with an injunction to be presentable and punctual for dinner at the sixth bell.

Turning to Harry, who had not yet moved, she led him out of the first years dorms and up a small staircase set in the tunnel wall to the right of the door they had just exited. At the top was an identical tunnel that ran the length of the entrance hall, and included cut out wall sections looking out over the hall to either side of the grand staircase, which looked to land at the third floor. To the left of the small staircase they had just come up, and directly above its counterpart on the floor below, was a small double door marked with the school crest and a number 2. 

Leading him past that door - and a second staircase beyond it that Harry hadn’t noticed earlier - Madame Segrisse escorted him into a well lit and beautifully decorated warren of corridors. In a definite improvement on Hogwarts corridor layout, however, this warren was very clearly marked, with each classroom or study room door labelled by an engraved plaque, and portraits at every main intersection who he was informed would be more than happy to direct him if requested. 

 

Taking Harry to a door marked East Wing Tower, she opened it to a large common area with small groupings of armchairs and sofas dotted about as well as filled bookshelves lining one wall and labelled notice boards for every possible type of study group he could imagine, as well as for various clubs and - he beamed - Quidditch teams. 

In the center of the room was a twin set of moving spiral staircases, the left one going up and the right one going down, as they wound around each other. 

“As a third year, you will be on the floor above, Heir Potter-Peverelle. Each floor is assigned to a year group, with the OWLs study years of Three, Four, and Five in this Tower. Unless accompanied by a student of that year group or a teacher, you will not have access to the common areas and dormitories of any year save your own. The Sixth and Seventh year students, being examination years and in need of more space and quiet to dedicate themselves to their work - as well as in need of specifically warded workshops and laboratories - are in the West Wing Tower.  
And this” as a delicately graceful woman with startlingly red hair and ears ever so slightly pointier than would seem human glided up to them “is your Head of Year, Madame Dubois. I shall leave you in her capable hands and return to my own year students now.”

Bowing politely, Harry barely had time to register the flood of information before she was gone. Turning to the new teacher, who had watched the whirlwind-de-Segrisse with barely veiled amusement, he extended the formal greeting of an Heir-Confirmed to an honoured tutor. 

Returning the greeting with poise, she smiled at him gently. 

“Merry meet, Heir Potter-Peverelle. I am aware you have some concerns based in past experience about your reception amongst your peers. Is there a preferred mode of address that you would like us to use in daily and informal life?”

“Merry meet, Madame Dubois. Thank you for the concern, I would much prefer to simply be one student of many as much as possible. As I have no particular liking for the circumstances of three of the names I could go by, and two others are far too famous and obvious, I would ask to simply be Harry Peverell, please.”

“Certainly, Mister Peverelle. I will ensure the rest of the staff are aware, and introduce you to your year mates as such. Speaking of which, as I’m certain you have had the general lecture on behaviour and propriety from Madame Segrisse already, I will take you up to your floor now. I’ll also be assigning a fifth year prefect as your mentor for the first month to help you settle in and find your way around. We usually assign fourth years as mentors, but they are all already assigned to the first years.”

“Thank you, that would be incredibly helpful.”

“Excellent. Now then, follow me up to the Third Years floor, and I’ll get you introduced and settled.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, in an old stone castle in Scotland, up a very different set of moving spiral stairs, an old man with atrocious dress sense looked across his desk at the angry, somewhat dim, young red-head sitting glaring at a letter scrunched tight in his fist.

“Mister Weasley. I presume that you, like myself, hold deep concerns for Mister Potter’s welfare and education with these disturbing changes to his situation by an unknown foreigner?”

“Yes, Headmaster. She’s got to have done something to him! He’s never been this formal in his letters, and he’d never have left me and Hermione, or Hogwarts, willingly! We’re his best mates, and he loves it here!”

“Ah, excellent. Then you would be willing to help me with my plans to have him returned to where he rightfully belongs?”

The old mans eyes twinkled benignly, concealing his vicious glee as the pawn looked back at him, so easily read. So easily lead.

“What do you need me to do?”


	9. An Entirely Different Kind of Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know... its been a while. Sorry! I'm just really bad at doing the thing already. This is not abandoned and I hope to try and update it a bit more regularly, but no promises. 
> 
> General reminder that all letters between Harry and Hermione, and all speech not occurring in Britain, is in French.  
> Any letters from other people from Hogwarts, or any speech that occurs in Britain, is in English.

### Chapter Nine: An Entirely Different Kind Of Year 

The first impression Harry had of his new peers and dormitory was one of restrained elegance and curiosity. The large circular room was very similar in layout to the common room of the First Years that he had seen earlier, but where their dormitories had only one door each for the boys and girls - plus a possible spare for non-binary genders - this room had three doors in blue with a gold crest - the girls dorms, he recalled - and three of gold with blue crests for the boys. A seventh door lay between the two sets, this one a blue that faded into gold at the top, with an opposite fade effect crest. The doors were equally spaced around the circular walls of the common area, and there were four fireplaces, each with arrangements of armchairs and sofas around them. Along the walls there were bookshelves full of study books, and there were group study tables in various places.

When Madame Dubois escorted him up the moving spiral stair from the tower common room to the Third Years floor, the milling students who were busily reconnecting in their years common room - casually lounging in the blue crushed velvet sofas and groups of armchairs, or gathered around the tables or in gently lit and luxuriously appointed alcoves between the bookshelves - all fell silent. Swiftly, each and every one of them stood and bowed respectfully to their Head of Year, looking curiously at the newcomer. 

Returning the curious gazes, Harry quickly noticed a very startling difference between these students and those at Hogwarts; in a good third of the gathered students, there were hints of magical creature blood. Not hidden and ignored like the traces of such in the various British pureblood children, but on full display. Accepted and acknowledged as simply a part of the person bearing them. Here, a pair of pointed ears much like those on Madame Dubois, there a certain tilt to the eyes and pattern of the skin that denoted a long ago selkie ancestor. One boy had what Harry could swear were slightly elongated fangs in his genial smile. 

As strange a sight to him as it was, Harry had known to expect a certain amount of creature blooded children. Quite a large part of his early education in the specifics of the Beauxbatons history and social expectations - as well as the lessons on the social structure of the French and European Wizarding Worlds - had made it clear that the constant movement of squibs and disenchanted half-bloods and muggleborns into the muggle world that was so prevalent in the British Wizarding World just didn’t happen here. It was considered gross negligence of the Statute of Secrecy, spreading the knowledge of magical society far wider than need be. If a wizard or witch of the continent had trouble finding a suitable partner in their own species, they would think nothing of looking for one from the magical races. It brought fresh influxes of magic to the line, and spread out the gene pool quite efficiently. As a consequence, muggleborns - who were frequently just descendants of squibs long since forgotten - were rare, and fully welcomed into the magical world. They were educated about their new society, and integrated into the culture and traditions, and the fresh blood and magic that they brought with them were welcomed by the purebloods as excellent buffers against the dangers of inbreeding. 

“Students” began Madame Dubois “I would like you to meet our newest third year, Harry Peverelle. He has transferred here after his guardian moved him to France from Britain, and will be remaining with us for the foreseeable future. I would like you all to make him welcome and be understanding of any slips he may make during the adjustment period. Monsieur Peverelle, you will find your assigned room is through the third door boys corridor.” 

Here, she paused and swept her gaze over the assembled throng, pausing on two boys near the back.

“Monsieurs Heraux and Besson, please step forward. Monsieur Peverelle has been assigned to your dormitory. His heritage and entrance examination results place him in close relation to your own circumstances.” 

Two aristocratic looking boys came forward, both wearing heir rings and circlets similar in style to Harry’s own, their robes, much like his, trimmed with intricately coloured embroidery that presumably matched the colours of the House or Houses they were heir to. Both bowed in sync, to the exact level of an equal ranked heir, eyes seeking out the sigils upon his heir rings and unable to properly perceive them. Jeanne had insisted that he wear them, but acquiesced to his desire for relative anonymity enough to cloak them so that one could only see what coat of arms they bore when their wearer had already told you. 

“Monsieur Peverelle, allow me to present Gerome de Heraux, Heir to the Barony of Montpellier, and Matthias de Besson, Heir to the Count of Nevers. Lord-Heirs, allow me to present Monsieur Harry Peverelle. He has expressed a wish to keep his titles and position quiet, so I can only assure you both that he is your equal in rank, and due the courtesies you yourselves expect.”

Bowing gracefully to his two new dorm-mates, Harry observed them as keenly as they themselves were observing him. 

Gerome de Heraux was a tall and willowy young man, with skin the burnished brown normally only seen on the leaves of a copper beech tree. His hair was long, black, and held back in an intricate formation of braids pinned in place by leaf-shaped clips and beads. When he smiled, the light of spring was in his deep green eyes, and Harry - with the many lessons drilled into him by Jeanne and Mazoe Fenta - recognised a close-kin descendant of a Dryad when he saw one. 

Matthias de Besson was in sharp contrast to his dorm-mate. Skin as pale as ever Draco Malfoy had possessed, with a similar level of innate grace to his movements, and hair almost as pale a blond, he seemed entirely human and likely to be a relative of some kind. Harry recalled Draco had often boasted - loudly - of his families estates in France. A certain extra light to the eyes and glow to the skin, that neither Malfoy had ever seemed to possess, however, made all of the difference in his initial impression of de Besson. 

Both boys, Harry concluded, were likely to make genial dorm-mates, and had potential for decent friendships as well. Either way, he ought to cultivate them as future political connections, just as they were no doubt planning to do so with him. For that was much the point of the dormitory assignments by social standing and academic performance. Those destined to be involved in political machinations were given the chance to develop a mutual support base of their peers, and the more indifferent students were kept from disturbing the evening studies of the harder working ones. Harry strongly suspected that even had Jeanne and Hermione not beaten an effective study routine into him over their time with the Gallizenae, his days of being distracted by friends who would much rather play games of exploding snap or long and heated arguments about quidditch would be long gone.

When all three boys had completed the necessary courtesies and formalities, Madame Dubois excused herself and dismissed the still watching throng of third years - who had no doubt been taking in every nuance and gesture of the scene before them. 

With formalities no longer an issue, Gerome and Matthias relaxed enough show him to their room, all the while showering Harry with questions about Britain, favourite lessons, and if he happened to play quidditch at all, maybe? Tis last came from Matthias, with an almost pleading edge to his tone that Harry immediately equated with Oliver Wood in the early throes of training-fever when Harry was being released from the hospital wing… and it said much about his time at Hogwarts that he was able to make that connection so swiftly, he thought with an internal grimace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Dear Hermione,_

_Fair greetings of the season upon you and yours._

_(I know, it’s super pretentious, but Jeanne insists I have to get into the habit of using the courtesies and traditional greetings in my letters, and my new dorm-mates are particularly strongly minded about it as well.)_

_How has your first month of term been? I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while, the settling in period has been quite an adjustment here. I’ve only just now gotten used to seeing the light blue silk robes of the uniform everywhere instead of the black Hogwarts robes. I still get occasionally surprised by the obvious creature-blood that’s just on display casually, and that’s with one of my dorm-mates being a half-dryad. I’m sure you’ll be in no way surprised to hear that he always gets full marks on his herbology without even remotely trying to. Speaking of which, do you think Neville might have some Dryad blood in him from way back? I’m seeing a lot of similarities on how the plants react to Gerome as they did to Nev._

_My other dorm-mate is a distant cousin of the Malfoys. They seem to have originated from the same gaelic clan, and both lines apparently had some sort of irregular intermarriage thing with the same veela clan before the Malfois gained their autonomy from the de Clisson family and moved to Britain (and wouldn’t that gets Malfoys nose out of joint to be spread about. No one ever even hinted at it in Britain). Matthias is as lovely and sunny as Malfoy is a dick and snooty, though. He keeps fussing over my hair and robes worse than Cordy ever did, insisting that an Heir of our stature needs to be properly turned out, and what am I even thinking to not even try and tame my hair. He’s even made me promise not to cut it, so we can see if it is less of a mess - or at least easier to contain - when its long. He’s also a little scary in Defense - way more than the other noble kids, who all get duelling and combat training from, like five years old - and adores quidditch to the point of almost reaching Woods levels of mania about it, so we’ve got lots to talk about._

_Relatedly, did you know that since Beauxbatons has roughly three times the number of students Hogwarts does, and doesn’t have Houses, they have an entire junior quidditch league? There are twelve teams, with players allowed from third year and up, but there has to be at least one player from each older year per team. Its to keep it fair in terms of relative size and age across the teams apparently. Matthias practically dragged me along to the tryouts when I said I’d already played two years as a seeker. Turns out, the teams don’t immediately hold separate tryouts like the Hogwarts houses do, instead the captains and their seconds all watch the tryouts together while the flying instructors run the actual drills. If a captain likes what they see, they mark you on their notes and you get an offer to join a team specific tryout where they can see a bit more of what you’re good at. To what would be no one’s surprise if anybody here knew me, I got about eight offers. Although five of them were teams basically saying, “we’d love to have you, but you’re clearly chaser or seeker potential and we already have the perfect mix of those in our line up. Maybe we might tempt you over in x number of years when the current ones graduate?”_

_So yeah. Long story short I’m now a chaser-in-training and backup seeker for the Crenel Carvers. Our warmup is a bracing jaunt through the tiny gaps of the crenellations on the roofs, at a pretty quick clip. And before you have a heart attack, the professors have long since warded and charmed all of the viable and interesting flight paths through and around the rooftops to within an inch of their being. Also, I could have joined the Tower Divers. They spend half their warmup time going straight down the sides of the drum towers with the aim of getting as close to the ground as possible before pulling up to race through the arches of the main fountains without falling off or getting drenched._

_Matthias is also on the Crenel Carvers, he’s being trained up as the new keeper for when the current seventh year keeper is too busy with exam prep, and when he leaves next year._

_Anyways, since I’m certain you could care less about my quidditch talk - beyond the heart attacks about our training games - I’ll move on the the subject nearest and dearest to your heart, oh dearest apprentice of Tyronoe: classes._

_They’re hard._

_Hope you’re having a good time with your own, and please remember to look after yourself with the workload._

_All the best,_

_Harry_

 

_I’m just kidding. You know I’d never do that to you, right? I value my organs where they are... Though I wasn’t kidding about the looking after yourself thing. I will go through with my threat to set one of the elves on you if you don’t._

_So yeah. Herbology is interesting. Turns out Sprout is pretty much the Hagrid of the plant world and has been focussing on what she calls the interesting plants rather than the ones we actually needed to know about. The classes here focus first on the most common potions ingredient plants that match the ones we use in that years potions classes. Its to ensure we can always recognise and even grow the ingredients for ourselves, so that we can be certain of the quality of our ingredients, and so that we can make as many of our own potions as possible with surety of the full quality and result from start to finish. Turns out plants not harvested exactly right, or stored wrongly, can have impacts on our potions. The coursework and essays are basically the maintenance and record keeping for our individual herb gardens._  
There’s also a monthly class dedicated to the basic information and recognition of the stuff Sprout would call interesting, but actively caring for them isn’t touched until fifth year and up. 

_Astrology is astrology. Though it’s also a crossover study with Divination, as well as Basic Warding & Anatomy of Curses, since the planetary alignments can influence readings and ward placements. _

_Charms is pretty much the same, as is Transfiguration. The only real difference is that instead of mentioning how hard each thing is and going into detail on the theory, we spend more time practising in lessons and its just presented as magic. Visualise it properly and get the movements and syntax right, and you should do it. Theory is a once per week class and mostly the reason for essay homework._

_History of Magic doesn’t put anyone to sleep! Its taught by the Deputy Headmaster, Seigneur Abaroa, and covers things that aren’t the goblin rebellions! This year we’re focussing on the century pre secrecy and all the things leading up to it, then the immediate aftermath. I actually find myself being fascinated by it, and it helps enormously with understanding the diplomatic and political intricacies of my Socio-Political Studies class._  
_Which is the headache express bound straight for mental breakdown central most of the time. Seriously. Which creature clans hold which territories, and which noble houses they align with, through multiple exception clauses from various historical shuffles and blood feuds, and what countries might support which moves in the wizengamot based on who is in charge at the time and it just goes on and on and on! Gah!_

_Potions is good though. Contessa Pavoni actually explains the steps, and makes sure to define the differences between types of preparations for the same ingredient and what changes they make to the brewing. She also doesn’t sweep about intimidatingly ready to leap down on any mistakes with scorn and derision, which is nice. She is strict, but with the amount of explosions and accidents that a mis-brewed potion can cause, she has every right to be hard on people who don’t take it seriously or pay attention to what they’re doing._

_Defense is my favourite though. We have three classes a week, one for practical learning of the new spell of the week, one for duelling and group combat practice, and one for theory and common creatures we might need to defend against. It’s brilliant! Madame Dubois, who teaches it, is my head of year, and she also runs an extra-curricular knife and sword fighting club, which is amazing fun and great stress relief._

_How is everyone at Hogwarts? Did Hagrid’s lessons go well? Has the new DADA teacher turned out well? Have the ministry caught Black and gotten rid of the Dementors yet?_

_With all the blessings of the seasons,_

_Harry._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Dear Harry,_

_I’ll get this bit out of the way now: WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING WITH THAT BROOM?!?!? HOW IS THAT AN EVEN REMOTELY SANE WARM-UP FOR A BUNCH OF SCHOOLKIDS TO BE DOING?!? AND SWORD FIGHTING? ONE OF THESE DAYS YOU’RE GOING TO KILL ONE OF US WITH THESE STUNTS!_

_Ahem._

_Now that I’ve gotten that out of my system - and very very carefully made sure that NOBODY has had a chance to read that letter after my initial shrieks got their attention, especially not the twins or Wood - on to the gushing about your classes._

_They sound amazing and I am incredibly jealous of you right now. I would absolutely love to take your History classes, and I insist right here and now that you get me copies of your notes and essays for basically all of your classes so I can compare them to the stuff we’re doing._

_Hagrid is doing pretty well with his classes, though there was almost a disaster when Malfoy deliberately tried to rile up a Hippogriff in our first lesson. I had to hit him with a tripping jinx before it could connect with him, and then confund the entire Slytherin half of the class so they didn’t realise what happened. Naturally, all of Gryffindor who were present did their level best to keep the smirks off their faces and pretend they hadn’t seen a thing. I’ve never been so popular. The incident shook Hagrids confidence a bit, but I’ve been helping him get over it and gave him some pointers on class safety and giving detentions or docking points for not paying attention when he’s telling us about the dangers._

_Defense is working out well, though we’re only focussing on the various creatures, rather than spells this year. The first lesson was a boggart and we all got to take a turn at banishing it with the Riddikulus spell. Neville’s turned into Professor Snape, and he dressed it in one of those ridiculous outfits and hats of his Grans. You know, the one with the stuffed turkey on top? And that oversized bright red handbag? Though its also caused poor Neville some problems, since Professor Snape heard about it quickly, and he’s been simply horrible to Neville ever since._

_No luck on the Sirius Black hunt as yet, sadly. The Dementors are awful and the trip down to Hogsmeade when we had to get past them was dreadful. I’m working on professor Lupin to try and get him to run an after dinner class on Dementors for the whole school so that we can know more about them. He said he’d ask Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore for permission._

_There’s no need to get all over protective on me, Harry, though its very sweet of you. I’m managing my time carefully, so you don’t have to worry. I know what I’m doing, and while it is a heavy workload, I prepared for it. It’s all fine, so don’t you dare uproot some poor house elf and force it to come and nursemaid me!_

_I’ve got to go now, my homework pile is also carefully time managed, so I can’t spend much time on letter writing, I’m afraid._

_Write back soon, I miss you._

_Love_  
_Hermione_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Harry._

_I know I haven’t really reacted well to the whole change thing. The twins keep telling me I’m being a berk, and I guess I might be. Sorry._

_But the thing is, right now, I need advice on how to cope with Hermione. You might have a problem with me because of things, but I know you’ve been writing to her a lot. She’s insisting she’s fine, and I assume she does the same in her letters to you, but she isn’t. Her timetable has lessons double over themselves, and she’s up to stupid hours of the morning doing her homework - none of which is even close to the set lengths and normally twice as long. She barely eats and I have no idea how she’s managing to do everything, but she won’t listen, and she hardly sleeps and I can’t get through to her!_

_I’m really worried Harry. Please, try and tell her to stop. She might listen to you!_

_Ron._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_HARRY POTTER!_

_HOW DARE YOU SEND THAT POOR HOUSE ELF? I TOLD YOU, I’M DOING FINE! I DON’T NEED MACEY PUTTING ME TO SLEEP IN THE MIDDLE OF MY HOMEWORK, OR SWITCHING MY BOOKS WITH FOOD! YOU CALL HER BACK RIGHT NOW OR SO HELP ME I WILL FIND A WAY TO CURSE YOU SO HARD THAT YOUR GRANDCHILDREN CAN FEEL IT!_

‘Well…’ thought Harry as the red strips of the self destructing howler set themselves on fire right on top of his Herbology report. ‘She could have taken that better. Though to be fair I did warn her.’

In point of fact, he had barely even had to do anything. All he had needed to do was mention it to Cordy and ask if there were any elves who might be able to handle it, and Cordy had barely even let him finish that sentence before calling Macey. Macey had immediately begged to be given the chance, having formerly been a specialist trained study-assistant before she was adopted into the Clisson elfin community from a somewhat obsessive research-and-experiment-oriented House that had recently died out. Slightly explosively. Much of her job had been centered around keeping a bloodline full of what Harry had mentally termed the Mad Scientists of the magical world alive during their research benders. 

Behind him, he heard a slight polite cough from Matthias’s bed. 

“So… Harry Potter, then?” 

Dammit! He’d forgotten he wasn’t alone in here when he opened his mailbox. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Dear Hermione._

_When you are failing to take care of yourself so spectacularly the Ron is actually able to both notice, and get over himself enough to actually write to me for help, you are conclusively Not Fine.  
Don’t you dare take this out on Macey, though she can almost certainly take it. She was raised and trained to assist *cough*keepalive*cough* a bloodline notorious for being worse than you at your most driven in terms of hunting down knowledge and staying in books for inadvisably long periods of time. She begged me to let her take this job. Good luck trying to persuade her she isn’t needed, because that is the only reason she’ll come back now. I asked her to look after you until such a time as you were able to set, follow, and keep a sensible and healthy eating and sleeping routine in amongst your studies. _

_Also, thanks for outing me to Matthias with that howler. I’ve been going by Peverell here, trying to be as normal and not Boy-Who-Livedish as possible while also still being an unknown but clearly ranking Heir. I’ve managed to persuade him not to spread it around, but I have no idea what might slip out while he’s at the Malfoy extended family gathering over christmas._

_Try and actually look after yourself now, please? And don’t be too mean to Ron, he was very clearly worried about you to have gone to such lengths._

_I’ll see you at Castel Clisson for the New Year, yeah? Jeanne says your parents agreed to you all coming to visit for a couple of days. You can get all the cursing out then. It’ll be fun!_

_Blessings of the seasons upon thee,_

_Harry._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All things considered, Jeanne thought as she waved farewell to the Granger family two days after New Year, that had been a rather pleasant time. It had been quite a while since she last had visitors who weren’t there for a formal ball, and even that had been several decades ago. Hermione had apparently been less than pleased with Harry for sending one of the House Elves to watch over her in her overzealous academic mania. Jeanne and the Drs Granger had stood back and enjoyed the show. It was quite an entertaining display of duelling between two who knew each others moves so well, but Harry had finally gotten the edge with a combination of a tickling charm and hair-growing jinx that ended up with the two of them both laughing helplessly on the floor. 

After that, things had settled down and she had had a lovely visit with two intelligent and sensible adults who understood the trials of raising a teenage mage.

The children had mostly taken over the library and her indoor obstacle course, depending on who won the coin toss for that round of activity.

Now she had two more days with Harry before he went back to Beauxbatons, and then she had some carefully lined up political dominoes to finally nudge.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was nearing the end of the Easter break when Harry was summarily collected from the middle of a pick-up game of quidditch by Jeanne, shoved into his - absolutely ridiculously coloured - formal House Potter robes, and taken to the British Ministry for Magic, where a large crowd of reporters tried and failed to get through Jeannes privacy shield bubble, and the two of them were lead to viewing seats in a courtroom.

Harry was looking around in utter bewilderment, avoiding the disappointed and grandfatherly gaze of Dumbledore, who he just knew would try to get him back with the Dursleys, when the court was called to order. A wave of cold swept over him and a distant screaming began, when a silver lioness slid out of Jeannes wand to sit between them and the floating, robed creatures that could only be Dementors. Chained to a chair between them was the escaped mass murderer - his godfather, he remembered bitterly - Sirius Black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its a bit stunted at the end, I know. I'm planning to expand on things that you may have noticed being skipped or brushed over in the next chapter. For this one, I wanted to just finally get the damn thing done and up.
> 
> Hopefully, now that I've managed to mostly bridge the gap over third year - when most of the plot was at Hogwarts and outside of Harry's control - we should be able to fill in the gaps a bit and then finally get to the Beauxbatons-Harry Triwizard Tournament that was vaguely the first spark for this story.


End file.
